The Shield Reunited
by Nyx6
Summary: Three years ago The Shield were a force to be reckoned with. A team that had the city's criminals on the ropes. Then they were betrayed and it all went to hell, which for Dean Ambrose happened in more ways than one. So how is he supposed to work with his former brothers again without going crazy? You'll have to read to find out. Bromance and hurt Dean ahead. Fair warning!
1. Death Of A Clown

**So given all the teasing we're getting at the moment, I really wanted to write a Shield** _ **get back together**_ **thing. However, if the real Shield do get back together (crosses several fingers and toes) then this is going to become pretty pointless, so voilà! I decided to make it an AU.**

 **For no apparent reason (other than that they're brilliant) all chapter titles are songs by The Kinks.**

 **Hope you enjoy! Please leave feedback. I'd be really grateful if you did.**

* * *

 **Death Of A Clown**

Stephanie's office was near the top of the building with uninterrupted views of the city. From it she could see every drug dealing corner and each plume of smoke from the day's burnt out cars. It suited her – the office – Dean thought vaguely, as he easily bypassed his boss' assistant and opened the door without breaking his stride.

Stephanie's assistant – Myrna he thought her name was, although he wasn't really sure because she was far too old to hit on and as a result it had never seemed worth bothering to learn – fumbled in alarm with the phone clamped to her earlobe and stretched to hit the intercom with her spare hand,

"Ma'am, Dean Ambrose is – ,"

She was marginally too late. Dean was inside before the message was over and grinning with a look that made his long-suffering boss sigh.

"Ambrose."

He nodded back at her formally, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Commissioner McMahon."

It wasn't exactly a new thing for either of them. In fact, over the years, it had kind of become _their_ thing. Dean liked to think that one day he might waltz in there and Stephanie would be doing something career-endingly embarrassing. Like getting changed or – he'd thought about this – possibly having sex. It wasn't that he wanted the leverage over her. He wasn't angling to add a bump to his pay. He simply wanted to able to tease her. Although _maybe_ a picture or two wouldn't hurt.

Stephanie raised a brow at him sardonically,

"Do you _have_ to give my assistant a coronary every time you come in here?"

"Don't _have_ to," he shrugged at her, "It's just kinda _fun_. Gotta take your laughs where you can get 'em around here. Never know which one will be your last, y'know?"

Apparently that was something that Stephanie did _not_ know and as she folded her arms across her chest apathetically, Dean's grin broadened. He knew she loved him really. Or on second thoughts, maybe she didn't but the repartee between them was too well established and was never delivered to seriously harm. Besides which, no matter how heated the tensions got between them, there were very few people whom the other respected more.

Except maybe the Mayor of Suplex City –

Who Dean suddenly realised was _standing in the room_.

His grin dropped instantly and Stephanie's in turn widened as he took in the figure silhouetted by the blinds. Vince McMahon was standing by the windows, with his back to them and dressed completely in grey twill. It was the suit he wore when he was making press statements and Dean knew it meant business without even a word.

 _Crap._

Smirking – because she would – Stephanie gestured towards her desk, which had been set up with three chairs in a half-circle around it.

"Take a seat Ambrose."

Typically Dean preferred to stand. She knew it too, but had left him little option and so he grudgingly eased himself onto the leather and slouched down to worry at his thumbnail like a child. Vince still hadn't turned around – or acknowledged him for that matter – and the silence wasn't comforting. On the plus side however, Stephanie was still smirking, which Dean considered a reassuring sign. After all, if she was going to shout at him then no way would she be grinning. Or at least, she never _had_ and she'd shouted at him plenty. Too many times to count. Besides, why would her old man have come along to watch that? He wouldn't have.

Something else was going on.

 _What?_

Almost as if suddenly realising he was there with them, Vince turned abruptly and offered him a nod.

"Ambrose."

"Sir," Dean replied respectfully, "Been on the course lately? How's the handicap?"

It was a question he knew instinctively to offer but had never understood since the day he first asked. For Dean a golf club was best used as a weapon and no way in hell was it an _actual_ sport. Whether Vince was aware of that however or just chose to ignore it, Dean had never really been sure and his confusion doubled as the Mayor grinned proudly and puffed out his chest,

"Pretty good, it's a twelve."

"Twelve huh? Wow that's – _uh_ – I mean, that's great."

Across from him, Stephanie sat down in her desk chair and snorted kinda _loudly_. She knew he was full of crap. Fortunately he was spared her actually _saying_ that by a voice across the intercom.

" _Ma'am_?"

Dean got there first,

"Go ahead,"

" _Ambrose_ ," Stephanie growled darkly, "What do you think you're – ,"

Dean waved her off, glancing up from the microphone and frowning like she'd interrupted his conversational flow,

"What? I'm tryn'a talk to Myrna here."

"Her name is _Valerie_."

 _Wow._

Not even close.

There was a slight pause as Valerie – hell, Dean preferred Myrna – obviously tried to decide what to do. She was a small little thing, all grey hair and glasses and his bullish personality had a tendency to leave her stumped. Eventually however, she continued regardless and Dean grinned a little,

 _You go girl_.

"Your twelve o'clock appointments are here. _Both_ parties. Would you like them to wait outside?"

"Nah, send 'em in."

" _Ambrose_ – ,"

With a solid little click and smile he released the button before sitting back against the leather and making a steeple of his fingers. The joke had left him ridiculously proud but the smugness faded as Vince moved in a step and Stephanie suddenly leant purposefully across the desk. Her expression was more serious than he'd seen it in years.

Or just a little over a year, around the time that –

 _No._

Dean stopped himself abruptly. No way in hell could he think about that now.

"Listen Ambrose," Stephanie hissed warningly and it jolted him sharply back from the brink, "I need you to stay cool. Whatever happens, I am _ordering_ you not to lose control, is that clear?"

Dean frowned in reply. Who the hell did she have out there? It actually freaked him out just a little and although he always liked to play things cool, not even _he_ could stop from turning around bodily as the door clicked open.

Two men walked in.

One of them was tall and thick-set like tank with a tribal tattoo trailing straight down his forearm. The other one had wavy black hair pulled back tight and a neatly trimmed goatee and –

" _Oh hell no_."

"Ambrose sit down," Stephanie issued sharply.

Not that Dean had realised he'd even jumped up. He hadn't taken notice of a whole lot of _anything_ except for the pulsating waves of pure shock.

Standing in front of him were his former friends – _brothers_.

Standing in front of him were Roman and Seth.

Seeing Roman was pretty fucking jarring and he would have been easily bad enough on his own. But Seth as well? Seth fucking Rollins. Wasn't the scumbag supposed to be in jail? As the anger grew, Dean's fists clenched on instinct and his eyes never left the two men as he growled,

"What the fuck is this? Why are they here?"

"Ambrose – ,"

 _Here together._

Because what was _that_ about? When had they managed to patch things up between them and more importantly why had they left him out? Not that he cared. It wasn't like he was _jealous_. He was angry. _That_ why his chest felt so tight. It was definitely _not_ because he had realised like a car crash that a part of him had missed them. That wasn't it at all. He was Dean Ambrose, he didn't need _anyone_ and the last twelve months had made that pretty clear.

" _Ambrose_ ," Stephanie tried again sharply, " _Sit down_."

Dean glared back,

"You know what? I'll stand in case there are any _more_ surprises. Who's next? The fourth grade teacher who told me I was dumb or did you track down that old boyfriend of my mom's who used to beat the shit out of me? That'd be fun, huh? Then we could _really_ call this a party."

"Alright Ambrose, that's enough."

Only it wasn't enough – hell, not even _close_ to it – and both of them knew it as they glared across the desk. It seemed strange that in a room which contained his _mortal enemy_ and his former best friend that he was glowering at his boss. But then she was the one who had dragged his ass in there and then sprung the whole _reunion_ , so that was what she got. As the tension continued to ramp up however – casting a lengthening shadow across the room – Vince stepped forward and cleared his throat briskly, before offering out a business-like hand.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming."

"No problem."

It was Roman who answered and at the sound of his rumble, Dean's heart began to ache. He'd _known_ that voice – he'd known it almost better than anything and yet it had been such a long time since he'd heard it.

A _fucking_ long time.

Like, _too_ fucking long.

In the silence, Vince moved in to stand behind his daughter, at the same time motioning towards the spare chairs. Side by side the family likeness was startling – not that Dean thought Stephanie would want to hear. What woman liked being told they looked like their father? Although frankly that was the _least_ she deserved.

Maybe he would sit on that one until her birthday and then write it across the middle of her card.

 _By the way, you like your seventy-something father._

Yeah, take that.

He didn't care she was the boss.

"Gentlemen, please," Vince continued, "Take a seat. I think we've got quite a lot to discuss."

Dean snorted loudly, ignoring the glances.

A lot to discuss?

 _Huh._

Wasn't _that_ the truth? He was actually curious to know where Vince planned on starting. Seth betraying them – no, _stabbing them in the back_ – or Roman leaving at the exact same moment that Dean's world broke like shattering glass? Either one made for a hell of an opening so he guessed it didn't matter providing he covered them both.

As Seth and Roman did as instructed and quietly moved towards the chairs, Dean headed purposefully off towards the window, fighting the urge to simply walk out of the room. His head was in tailspin and his poor heart was pounding with so much force that it actually _hurt_. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't process what was happening and he _hated_ the way that made him feel.

He didn't need them, he didn't miss them.

Only as it turned out, he really fucking did.

For their part, Seth and Roman gazed back at him quietly and it helped – a little – that each man looked ashamed. At one point or another they had both screwed him over and although the wounds were different, they still ran pretty deep.

In the end it was down to Stephanie to start proceedings, which she did as if nothing was wildly amiss. Clearly it was not just looks that were inherited since both father and daughter ran _fantastic_ lines in what could only be called gross understatement as well.

"So I'm sure you're all wondering exactly why you're here?"

Dean laughed again but the others remained quiet.

He could remember when they _all_ would have smirked at that one. He and Seth might have mouthed something stupid. Roman might have smiled and surreptitiously caught their eye. He didn't miss that and nor was it the reason – it definitely _wasn't_ – that he only half-listened to Vince, who had suddenly decided to put them out of their misery and fill them in on what was going on.

Well, sort of.

He actually began with a story.

"When I became the Mayor of Suplex City, the crime rates here were the worst in the country. You boys were still in uniform back then. I'm sure you can remember?"

Dean glared. Remember? He'd grown up in the city's second roughest neighbourhood. Shit like that was pretty hard to _forget_.

"We remember," Seth answered for them and his voice made Dean want to punch his stupid head. The fact that he resisted was oddly satisfying and he suddenly wanted to share that with Steph. He figured she would be pretty proud of him. In fact, she would have probably considered it personal growth.

"But through hard work and the establishment of a professional task force," Vince continued blithely, "We managed to turn that tide and Suplex City became – not only a success story – but a nationwide _model_ for how to get things done right. You men were a valuable part of that process."

 _We couldn't have done it without the work of The Shield._

He didn't exactly _say_ but then he didn't exactly _have_ to and Dean's eyes narrowed as he realised more was on the way. It was nearly three years since The Shield had been abandoned – no, scratch that, fucking _broken up_ – and in all of that time it hadn't been mentioned. Now there they were dancing around it again.

 _Why?_

"We did what we had to do," Roman offered plainly, "We're glad it worked out."

Dean frowned a little. _We_? Since when did Roman get to be group spokesperson? Since when were the three of them even a _group_? He might have once had the right to speak for him, but those days were long gone and they weren't coming back.

"It _was_ working out."

Vince's sudden sentence abruptly threw all of them and even managed to slap the taste from Dean's mouth. Over the months he had heard a few rumblings – rumours that crime was back on the up but given that he had never been one for statistics, he hadn't honestly given them much stock. Now there he was with the Commissioner _and_ the Mayor having it confirmed to him.

Dean blinked back,

"Why?"

The answer for _that_ part came directly from Stephanie and although she looked his way, she encompassed them all.

"Confidence."

That was _not_ what Dean had been expecting and his face crumpled on instinct as he frowned at her,

"Huh?"

"Statistics show the criminal element growing bolder. With the task force dismantled they're no longer running scared. As a result we're seeing criminal operations getting bigger and their reach and resources starting to spread. We worked too hard to stamp that out last time and so before it takes hold again, we need it to stop – one gang at a time if we have to."

"How?" Dean asked sharply, "I mean, you said it yourself. The task force is _disbanded_ remember?"

Although frankly _dead and buried_ would have been a far more accurate term. He already knew the rest of the sentence – he could feel it coming – but it still hit him like a blow and even with Stephanie's vague attempts to soften it, nothing much helped.

"We're reinstating you all."

For a second there was silence – no one said anything which in Dean's case was only because he couldn't form words. Were they serious? Were the pair of them _actually_ serious? Vince's next sentence made it clear that they were.

"Now, I know what you're thinking and it's probably a shock but there is no denying the results you boys got and that's what we need right now – _results._ "

"Basically gentlemen," Stephanie continued,"What we want is to resurrect The Shield."

Dean shook his head at her.

 _No._

He wouldn't do it.

He didn't have –

He didn't _know_ –

 _Fuck, just no._

But that didn't mean that he didn't feel angry when Roman voiced what was essentially the same exact thing. The big man sounded doubtful about them working together and Dean couldn't help but take that as a slight.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, the three of us? Together? We ain't _exactly_ a team anymore."

They weren't exactly _friends_ for that matter either and Stephanie nodded and her face kind of softened as if she had been patiently waiting for that question all along.

"You've never let us down before."

"Maybe not but we've let down each other – or maybe I should say _some_ of us have."

Dean's appraisal had sailed out on base instinct and was rewarded by the gaze of four sets of eyes. They lingered on him for several seconds and then two of them dropped down in embarrassment.

 _Good_.

Stephanie on the other hand was wearing a frown that was fierce enough to curdle fucking _dairy_ and as she forged on, her tone became icy which she levelled at her detective.

So much for growth.

"Be that as it may, what we need is The Shield back and we need it as soon as possible. Everything's in place. Now I know you three have a difficult history, but you'll have to get past it. This is your _job_."

Dean's explosion caught everyone off-guard but at the same didn't surprise them at all. Throughout the speech his shoulders had been twitching and in the end it hadn't been _if_ but more _when_.

It was a mistake that Stephanie should have known better than to make with him. After all, she had been dealing with Ambrose for seven years. On top of that he'd had a difficult time lately and it had made him – more than ever – not prepared to take much shit. Added to the fact that she'd brought in his brothers and it was frankly little wonder that he'd finally blown up.

All she could hope was that the explosion was cathartic.

Which from the outset appeared to be a _no_.

" _Difficult history_? Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? Rollins over there left me for _dead_. Am I the only one who remembers that or somethin'? I mean, forgive me if I'm wrong or whatever but I thought crooked cops _couldn't_ re-join the force. But since you're offerin' him what _sounds_ like a job here maybe I've got it wrong. What? You gonna give him a medal too?"

He already knew the answer to his question and so Stephanie didn't bother to reply. For all its successes their three-man task force – known to those in the room as _The Shield_ – had never been an officially sanctioned body. For much of their tenure they had worked _outside_ the law. At the time it had been a necessary evil designed to fight criminal fire with fire but it had also meant offering plausible deniability. To the outside world, Vince and Steph were not involved.

Being disassociated from the police force however, meant that the job came pretty much without rules. In other words having a criminal on the task force was by no means an issue,

Stephanie heaved a sigh,

"Listen, Ambrose – ,"

But listening had never really been Dean's style, besides which he was far too angry to take orders and especially – _especially_ – not from her.

"Shouldn't he still be in _jail_ or whatever?"

"Actually no," Seth put in suddenly and the sound of his voice made everyone stop, "I've been out for six months now and maybe that's not good enough but I served my time. What else can I do?"

It seemed like he was really asking and there was an honesty there that made Dean baulk. He was Seth but at the same time he wasn't _quite_ Seth. Not the fiery pumped up screamer _or_ the devious turn-coat he had suddenly become. This Seth seemed to be a _third_ fucking version and Dean couldn't cope with it.

He shook his head,

"Leave. I mean, what are you even doin' here anyway? You don't have any family here. You _don't_ have friends. What's left for you, man? Why are you still – like – _clinging_ on to this? Kinda desperate don't you think?"

" _Ambrose_ – ," Stephanie put in forcefully, " _That's enough_."

For once Dean agreed with her.

 _Damn right it is._

For the past few years he had done nothing but get stepped on and he wasn't about to let that happen again. Screw the McMahon family. Screw the fucking task force. He was taking his life back.

 _Baby, this one's for you_.

"Y'know what _boss_? You're right. It _is_ too much, so here's what I think about your plan. _I quit_."

There was a startled pause as everyone simply stared at him, clearly trying to figure out if he was serious or not. To show them he was, he unclipped his holster and marched across to drop it down onto the desk. His badge was a little bit harder to take off – the damn thing managed to get caught on his belt – but once he was free, he slammed it down forcefully and backed up to glare at them.

Yeah, he was done.

He was vaguely aware of the expressions as he was doing it, registering looks that ranged from outrage to alarm. Vince looked almost angry – he wasn't expecting that – while Stephanie looked totally and utterly stunned. She clearly couldn't believe he was doing it, which made two of them honestly, because neither could he.

Maybe he was crazy.

He was – they all knew that. But _quitting_? What the fuck had he done? He was still debating pretending he was messing, when Roman spoke up again,

"Dean, come on – _don't_."

Rather than appealing to his better nature however, it actually fuelled Dean with added resolve. He didn't need them. He didn't need _anyone_ and he was pretty damn certain they didn't need him. Steeling his gaze he stalked towards the threshold, stopping only to affect a deeply mocking salute.

"Good luck with this whole _savin' the city_ deal. Oh and Vinny? I never knew what a handicap was."

Then Dean threw himself with a _bang_ through the doorway and startled Myrna one last time.

* * *

 **Sooo *looks around the room uncertainly* what did you think? Give it to me straight.**

 **Next chapter in a week and in case you're wondering if this is one of those ones the writer gives up on, then no, the whole thing is written barring the last two chapters so it's just a matter of posting it up.**

 **I'll see you then!**


	2. Milk Cow Blues

**Okay, so, here we go with chapter two. This should flesh out a bit more information for you (well, that's the plan at least!) Thanks to my reviewers,**

 **Dana1, It's all written but each chapter needs editing which takes me an age because I'm so obsessive! I'm pretty swamped at work as well, so once a week is about all I can manage. Hope that will be enough.**

 **Eevee4ever2004, thanks for your interest, hopefully you'll like the rest!**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, Your wish is my command! Seriously though, thank you for your review. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!**

 **Andrew27King, I'm glad you have such faith in me! With any luck, I won't disappoint!**

* * *

 **Milk Cow Blues**

It didn't take them as long to find him as Dean had thought it would. Which irritated him because he just wanted to be alone.

 _Alone._

Maybe that wasn't the right word to use. After all, wasn't he always alone? These days at least. It hadn't always been like that. Three years ago he'd had two brothers – not by blood but by everything else – and even just one year ago he'd had a best friend and the love of his life.

He stopped himself. Thinking about her was too painful. People had told him that time would make it easier but they were wrong. If anything it had only made it _worse_. He handled it though and she would have been proud of that. Hell, she was proud of almost everything he'd done.

Fuck it but he missed her. He missed her _a lot_.

He wondered briefly what she would have made of it. How would she have wanted him to handle this – this _thing_? Probably sensibly.

 _Let bygones be bygones Dean._

She'd said that to him once, when a letter from Seth had arrived from the penitentiary and she had forced him to read it instead of ripping it straight up. He hadn't written back – he'd had nothing to say to him, still _didn't_ – but despite that she had kissed him gently and thanked him for trying. She would _definitely_ have wanted him to patch things up with Roman. She'd _loved_ Roman and – once upon a time – she'd loved Seth. It was a shame then that love had never been enough. It hadn't saved her, it hadn't saved The Shield. In the end all it had ever done was bring him more heartache and _that_ was the reason he had walked from the office. Not because he didn't want to do it but because he _couldn't_. No way could he get close and lose them again. Which was precisely what was going to happen.

After all, it always did.

It was _also_ the reason that he sank towards the table as he saw them arrive, hoping not to be seen. He had known that Roman would find him out quickly – just twelve months earlier Dean's favourite bars had been _theirs_ – but Seth's appearance was a little more grating.

What? Did they do _everything_ together now?

It was actually Seth who spotted him first off and he swatted Roman sharply across the arm. Both sets of long dark hair swung round towards him and he snorted as both men headed his way.

"Well, well, well, look who it is – my _former_ best friends."

Roman sighed a little,

"Dean – ,"

"Did I _miss_ somethin'? Is there somethin' I didn't make clear back there? I mean, we all know I have a tendency to kinda _ramble_ right? So let me say it again – so you can hear it – I have _no_ interest in workin' with you. Did it before, _kinda_ backfired. Not about to do it again."

To finish off his sentence with something of a flourish, he took an exaggerated sip of his drink and Roman narrowed his brows at him suspiciously and shifted awkwardly,

"How many have you had?"

"Drinks?" Dean responded, like he couldn't remember, "I don't know. I wanna say like _five_? Why? Don't tell me you're actually worried? Because you're twelve months too late buddy. Y'know? That ship has sailed."

As his hand moved up and down to mimic choppy waters, Roman's expression dropped from worried to _shit_. Clearly he had been waiting for his own bespoke ass-chewing ever since he had heard Dean letting loose on Seth.

 _Seth._

For his part the younger man was just standing there, frowning between them and looking slightly out of place. Actually he looked like he'd been set up with someone but had managed to get caught between his date and their ex. It was all so stupid that Dean _actually_ chuckled which didn't do much to ease Roman's alarm. As Dean went to take another sip of clear liquid, the big hand came down on his and held it in place,

"That's enough Dean. You've had enough."

"Fuck off Roman."

"Dean – ,"

"It's _water_."

For a second the pair of them simply blinked down at him and then Seth frowned,

"It's what?"

To make the point, Dean dropped in his finger and swirled it briskly around the glass. Lifting it out again he flicked the cool droplets, aiming them directly at Seth's face.

" _Water._ "

Clearly whatever the two men had been expecting, sobriety hadn't made it to the top of the list and Dean smirked a little, pleased he had surprised them if only because it _proved_ they were no longer his friends. Only it didn't – at least, not really – because the smile in Roman's eyes threatened to undermine it all,

"Good for you."

"Yeah well," Dean shrugged bitterly, "I'm sorry I'm not as screwed up as you thought I would be."

"What? No. I mean it, I'm _proud_ of you – she would be too."

Dean's voice darkened,

" _No_."

It was a strange thing to witness the sudden turn in character as Dean moved from tense to all out _enraged_. It was almost like somebody had flipped a switch on him and in mentioning _her_ , Seth guessed Roman had.

"Dean, I didn't – ,"

He didn't get much further.

Three words were all it took for Dean to erupt.

" _You_ don't get to fuckin' talk about her. You don't get to say her fuckin' name. You lost that right when you weren't at the funeral and when you didn't call and when you didn't send a card – ,"

Seth couldn't help but blink a bit at _that_ one.

 _No contact?_

That didn't sound like Roman at all.

"I already fuckin' _know_ she's proud of me. Why do you think I haven't had a drink? But if you think I'm gonna let you pretend that you _gave a shit_ then guess again because you're dead fuckin' wrong."

The speech was about as passionate – and emotional – as they had seen him and it was made more poignant by the shine in his eyes. Dean was on the verge of losing it completely and if he did it would mark the first time they had ever seen him cry.

" _Uce_ – ,"

As Roman stepped forward looking positively _broken_ , Dean stilled the movement with a hand.

"I'm fine."

It was a total crock of shit and all three of them knew it, but they were still too unsure of each other to call him out. So instead they simply stood and watched him draw deep breaths in and try to shake the tears out of his eyes. In the silence Seth slid into the booth to sit across from him and glanced up at Roman in ill-concealed surprise,

"Seriously man? You didn't get in touch with him? I was in _jail_ and I sent a fucking card."

"Which I burnt," Dean put in but his voice sounded stronger and so on balance Seth decided he didn't really mind.

"What gives man? Where the hell were you?"

The answer came out as a reluctant half-sigh,

"Florida."

"What?"

"I was in Florida. I transferred there right before – ,"

 _Right before she died._

Dean's gaze dropped without the words even being spoken and seeing it made Roman's heart break a little more. Seth however was still working on confusion. There was _a lot_ he'd missed out on and he was looking to fill in gaps.

"So what, they don't have phonelines in Florida? The postal service doesn't make it out that far?"

Roman gritted his teeth a little,

"No. It wasn't – I mean _I wasn't_ – I just wasn't really myself back then."

"Meaning?"

" _Meaning_ that I was going through some stuff that hit me kinda hard. I was in a bad place."

Throughout his admittedly vague explanation, Roman had been talking directly to Seth, but as the words left his mouth they drew a laugh from across the table and it wasn't amused-sounding either.

Dean was _pissed_.

"A bad place? You think _you_ were in a bad place?"

Roman winced and held his hands up,

"I know, I know. Just, hear me out, alright? I'm not saying I was going through anything _close_ to what you were but my family – my wife and I – we weren't getting along. You know she was never a fan of the job and what we used to put ourselves through and the _hours_ and the _nights_ – ,"

That was true enough. Dean remembered that much. She had complained about it plenty whenever he'd been round. He had just used to let it roll over him and had sort of assumed the same for Roman as well. Of course, things had always been easier in his relationship because _she_ just _got_ it. She'd never bitched about his job.

Fuck he fucking missed her.

"Wait, _that's_ why you left?"

The realisation chased away Dean's mournfulness and he frowned across the table. Roman sighed,

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you just tell me man?"

"I guess I didn't want to admit that I was failing – as a husband _and_ as your best friend."

"I wouldn't have seen it like that."

"I know. But then there was this _other_ thing too – ,"

Dean frowned,

"What _other thing_?"

"It's not important."

Seth however was suddenly caught up and as he chuckled somewhat knowingly, both men looked across at him and their expressions were so fractious that they very nearly matched,

"Let me guess," he started smugly, "She didn't like you spending so much time with Dean. _She_ wanted you to be at home with the family rather than out with your police buddies. Am I right?"

 _Damn him._

Roman's eyes flickered shut briefly and when he opened them again it was to hurt on Dean's face.

"Hey man, it's not like that. It's not about her not liking you – she _does._ It's just that she wanted me to be home more and what with her family living down in Florida she thought it might be – I don't know – a _fresh start_. It's not like I could really blame her for it either. She was essentially raisin' three kids on her own."

"So that's why you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't know how to."

Dean nodded stiffly,

"And after the accident – when – ,"

Dean stopped again. Even after a whole year without her, he still couldn't say the words.

 _When she died?_

Fortunately Roman understood him completely and softened his tone a little in response,

"Things were going pretty bad down in Florida and I guess I wasn't actin' like myself. I'm so damn sorry _uce_ , I wanted to be there but I _didn't_ – I _couldn't_ – I just wasn't in that place. Then by the time I came to my senses, I didn't know _how_ to get in touch. I didn't know how to make up for not being there or if you'd even want to talk to me – ,"

Dean micro-smiled,

"Probably not."

It was a serious enough sentiment but he delivered it teasingly and instantly the tension between them dropped off. It was the first time all day that Dean had looked semi-comfortable and Roman could almost feel the sparks of friendship coming back. Then Seth had to open his god damn mouth again and the iciness flooded in like Dean had drawn across a veil.

"So what about you and – ,"

"She and I are over. I mean, I tried but I just couldn't get it done. So she stayed on in Florida with the kids and I came back here. I wasn't happy down there. I needed to come home."

It was the first time he had admitted his impending divorce to anyone and as it transpired, putting it out there was hard. There was something about it actually _hearing_ it in the open. It was ugly and brutal and soul-destroying all at once. Roman had always been _heart-on-sleeve_ honest and the broken look across the rugged features dispelled what was left of Dean's rage,

"Hey man," he offered, "That sucks. I'm real sorry."

Roman blinked back at him,

"Thanks uce. That means a lot."

He wasn't kidding either. Actually it meant _everything_ but for Seth on the other hand it still clearly wasn't enough. He blinked across at Dean in total astonishment and his tones rose several octaves in a nasally-sounding shout,

"Whoa, whoa, _wait_ a minute. That's it? That's all it took? A break-up story and an apology? _Come on_. He missed your fiancée's _funeral_ for god sakes. You're gonna forgive him just like that?"

Dean shrugged mildly,

"I figure he had a good enough reason. I mean, don't get me wrong, what he did sucked, y'know? Woulda been a whole lot better having my best friend there. But at least I understand _why_ he wasn't. That was kinda all I wanted I guess."

Seth blinked,

"So, we're done here? That's it. We're all forgiven?"

Dean's gaze darkened,

"What makes you think _you_ are?"

Seth looked back at him with a frown of confusion and for a second it was so pitiful that Dean almost felt bad. But then he remembered just _who_ he was staring at and what he had done to him. After that, not so much.

"Because," Seth stuttered, "It's kinda the same thing – ,"

"Really?" Dean replied lazily, "How?"

Despite the deliberately nonchalant tones there was something dangerous glinting in Dean's eyes and although Seth could see it and could remember what it meant, he was willing to risk it if it allowed him his say.

"Come on man, don't you see it? It's totally the same. He turned his back on you to try and save his family and I was just trying to save _my_ family too."

"That's not the same thing Seth," Roman put in darkly, "I was never a dirty cop."

"Neither was I – well – not by choice anyway. They were _threatening my family_. What else could I do?"

Dean eyed him steadily,

"You could have fuckin' told us."

"You don't think I wanted to? Of course I did. _Constantly_. But you know who they were and what they were like. I couldn't tell anyone. I just couldn't risk it. I didn't want to take the chance."

As he'd been talking Seth's hands had fallen open and were lying palm-up on the sticky table top. When questioning a suspect it was something Dean always looked for and nine times out of ten, it was a gesture of truth. But that wasn't the problem – Dean had always believed him – the problem was the moment that had ruined it all.

"So is that why you hit me across the head with a chair?"

Seth stopped suddenly and licked at his lips. There they were. The crux of the matter and the one thing in all of it that Dean couldn't forget.

"I already told you man, I didn't know it was you."

"So what you're sayin' is you wouldn't have swung the thing at me if you'd known who it was?"

"What I'm _saying_ is you startled me – ,"

"Well then _maybe_ ," Dean countered, "You shouldn't have been stealin' from the evidence room."

Seth rolled his eyes,

 _Ugh._

"They _told_ me to. Do we really have to do this now? We went through this at the trial."

"Yeah, we did," Dean nodded, " _They forced me, they made me do it, I was scared_ – ,"

At the sudden biting mockery, Seth's brow darkened and Roman shifted awkwardly, sensing a fight.

"Dean – ,"

But once again his friend wasn't listening. Why the fuck should he? It was cathartic after all.

"See, I remember the whole thing Seth. Every little detail – every single word. But what I _don't_ remember you ever explainin' is why you decided to leave me for dead."

Seth's mouth opened then closed again uncertainly. Clearly whatever he _thought_ had been coming, he hadn't been quite expecting _that_ and as a result his answer was halting and totally unconvincing,

"I just – I just wanted to get out of there is all."

Dean chuckled wryly and the sound was so eerie that a couple at the next table turned to stare,

"Come on now Seth, why don't you tell the truth for once? If you'd have wanted to get out of there, you'd have just run. I was already lyin' on the ground in agony, I wasn't goin' anywhere, you knew that. But that's not what you did is it Sethie-boy? What did _you_ do? You hit me again. You waited until I rolled over and looked at you and you brought the damn thing down on my head. _Then_ you left – you left me there bleedin' without tellin' a single fuckin' person where I was. So don't give me the whole _you just wanted to get out of there._ Let's call it what it is. You wanted me dead."

Seth's eyes widened in horror,

" _No_ – ,"

But Dean wasn't done yet. _God_ why wasn't he done?

"I mean, after all, if I was dead then there wouldn't have been anyone left to pin it on you. Hell, you could have skipped off into the sunset and no one would have known. Should have hit me a little harder, huh?"

" _No_ ," Seth repeated, vehemently, "Look, I didn't know _what_ the hell I was doing. I was out of my mind. Come on, they'd threatened my _mom_. Yes, okay, maybe on _some_ level I knew that if I killed you then I was in the clear. But that doesn't mean I was trying to kill you. I couldn't have done that. I _wouldn't_ have done. I mean, they even asked me if I thought you'd seen me and I said _no_. They wanted to go into the hospital and finish you. Don't you get it? I saved your god damn _life_."

While Seth had been talking he had grown more and more passionate and to that point louder and louder too. No longer was it just the table beside them listening, in the interim they had garnered at least another four. Dean however remained unmoved, taking another long sip of his water,

"Saved my life? Well, I'd thank you for it if it wasn't for _hitting me in the head with a chair."_

This time however it was Seth who wasn't listening and with a shake of his head he carried right on,

"Besides, why do you think I was at home when they arrested me? I knew you'd talk. I could have been long gone. But I wasn't. I stayed and I co-operated fully because I wanted to make things right. Hell, I _still_ do. _That's_ why I'm here. I want make _this_ right. I want us to be a team again."

Dean snorted wryly,

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

"Just hear me out man – ,"

But Dean wasn't buying it and on top of that he had heard almost more than he could bare. Slamming his glass down hard on the table he growled out his reasons,

"I can't fuckin' _trust_ you Seth. I did that once and look where it got me – in the hospital with a hairline fracture to my skull. I promised myself then that I would never ever trust you and I'm not going back on that. I can't. But hell, you two can do whatever you want to. I mean, you seemed pretty cosy back there in Steph's office, so if you want to do this then – hey – go ahead."

At the seeming implications hidden in Dean's sentence, Roman frowned at him and let loose a sigh. Even back when they had been brothers there had always been arguments and disagreements to settle and more often than not he had been in between. But Dean against both of them was a brand new dynamic and one that Roman didn't care for in the least,

"We haven't been planning this behind your back. Stephanie spoke to us separately. I knew he was involved but that's why I told her that the final decision had to come from you."

Dean glanced up at him appraisingly,

"You wanna do it, don't you?"

"I guess I want to know if it _could_ work again."

"You really trust him to have your back?"

The question was accompanied by the jerk of a thumb, the gesture clearly in Seth's direction. Roman paused for a minute then smiled, dodging it artfully,

"Not as much as I trust you."

For a second it seemed like he might be getting somewhere, then Dean snorted roughly,

"Then you're an idiot as well."

"Dean – ,"

"No, that's it. We're done here."

Standing up suddenly, Dean threw his drink back, skidding the glass artfully across the table until it skittered to a halt between the other two.

"Dean," Roman tried again, calmly, "Sit down uce."

But there was no way in hell he was about to do that and in response he shrugged back into his jacket and flipped up the collar before slotting on his shades.

"Look Roman, I'm glad we got to – y'know – _clear the air_ here, but as for the three of us? Yeah, I'm over that. Go back to your family man, try and make it up to them because this right here is not a thing and as far I'm concerned, it won't ever be again. Have a nice life – well, not you Seth, you can crawl into a corner and die – but Roman? Take care of yourself. Been great seeing ya."

Then before either man had time to blink, Dean was away from the booth like a greyhound, almost at the door before Roman called out,

"Dean, we start in the old place on Monday morning – eight sharp. Just _think_ about it, alright?"

Dean snorted roughly. What the hell was there to think about? He had already made up his mind.

* * *

 **So, I'd love to hear what you're thinking. Also, it's probably worth saying that Dean's partner can be whoever you want her to be. I'm kind of deliberately vague on that front.**

 **See you next time!**


	3. Naggin' Woman

**Hi all, so a little bit earlier than I promised on this one, because, well, because I'm nice. I'll try and get these up as often as I can but work has gone to hell at the moment and so it might just have to be once a week. Certainly not longer, so just bare with me and thank you to everyone who's reviewed.**

 **Wrestlechic1, that's an interesting suggestion. I hadn't really thought of that. I'm just generally not comforting writing about wrestler's real life loved ones, so being vague seemed a good way around that! Glad you're enjoying it.**

 **Raze Olympus, aww, glad you're loving it! Like I said, I'll try and be a little faster if I can.**

 **Ohana1337, Thank you so much. I really loved writing grumpy, bitter Dean!**

 **Andrew27King, LOL, that just struck me as something he would say! Glad you liked it.**

 **Okay, here we go!**

* * *

 **Naggin' Woman**

The first thing he saw was the big black saloon car parked up outside his apartment building, it's tinted windows glinting in the moonlight and easily outpricing the other vehicles around.

Then he saw Stephanie.

She was standing, arms folded on the stoop by the door and it was obvious that she was waiting for him and had been for some time.

Dean's step slowed as he got towards her and he let out a weary sounding groan.

" _Ugh_ come on. You here for round two? Didn't think the boys would be able to get the job done so you decided to come here and convince me yourself?"

He stomped up the steps with a frown of dissention and brushed past her as he pulled out his keys. Stephanie moved up behind him and then – sure enough – followed him inside as he pushed open the door. She never had been one for taking subtle cues from people, be it body language, tone or all-out fucking _glares._

It came with being the boss Dean supposed.

"I don't need to convince you Ambrose," she offered coolly, shadowing him across the foyer as he went to collect his mail, "Why would I when I can just order you to do it?"

"I quit, remember?"

"Which isn't how it works. You signed a _contract_ and that contract states that for the next fourteen days, you are still mine."

Dean slammed shut his mailbox and shrugged at her lightly,

"Yeah, I'm not doing that."

Stephanie smiled,

"Really? Because I have a team of lawyers that say different. Don't make me sue your sorry ass Dean, it would really dent this working dynamic we've managed to build up over the years."

For a second he merely glared at her, testing her resolve and whether or not she would follow through on her threat. The fact she wasn't blinking was not a good sign because it meant that she was serious.

As in deadly.

 _Shit._

"What do you want Steph?"

"You know what I want."

"And _you_ know I can't do it."

"Ambrose – ,"

"Please Stephanie. Just – don't."

Despite his intentions, the words came out pleading and desperate and broken and a million things at once. Which was clearly the last thing his boss had been expecting considering how quickly she seemed to soften up.

She wasn't letting go though – no way, no how – and as they stood in awkward silence, she re-folded her arms,

"Are you going to invite me up for a drink?"

"Don't have much these days."

"I'll take what I can get."

Knowing that it was almost pointless to argue, Dean shrugged his shoulders and let out a sigh. It wasn't exactly a _hey, come on up_ but if nothing else it was a sullen _suit yourself_.

Stephanie could live with that.

They took the stairs in silence and so far apart that to the casual observer they didn't look together. The only time that he even briefly acknowledged her was when he paused to hold open the door to the hallway, before turning and leading them towards his apartment which was located halfway along the third floor.

Once inside, Dean stripped off his jacket and tried his hardest not to flip out. As if the day hadn't already been hard enough, now he had to play fucking host to his boss. His very demanding, _bitchy_ boss who was trying to strong-arm him into a job.

There was no earthly way that his life could get weirder and –

 _Oh god._

Why the hell had he decided not to wash up? Scooting further into the apartment ahead of her, Dean swept up his dinner plate and the morning's empty bowl, slaloming the counter to drop them both into the sink. Behind him Stephanie stepped into the living room and looked around brightly,

"This is your place?"

Dean blinked back at her, his answer silent, but his expression speaking volumes in return,

 _Is there a problem?_

"No," Stephanie shook her head, "It's nice, it's just more _homey_ than I figured you for."

In particular she was talking about the various soft furnishings from the cushions to the fringed throw, the candles and the lamps. The room was inviting and warm and kind of _delicate_. In short, it had a woman's touch.

There was a sideboard in the corner with a picture frame on it and inside it was a photograph of Dean's former girl. She was laughing – in the middle of trying to take a selfie – but Dean had clearly dived in to give her a kiss and as a result the pair were squashed together looking blissful and happy and totally in love. It was tragic really. She had been _so_ good for him and her death had nearly destroyed him in turn.

Following her gaze, Dean's expression clouded over and he glanced down at his hands as if not sure what to say,

"I tried to – _uh_ – I tried to keep it the same. I mean, it's not as tidy or as clean or whatever but – ,"

"You know what Ambrose? I'd say you've done just fine. Now, what about that drink I was promised? Are you going to keep me waiting all night?"

Just like that they were swiftly back to business and Dean snorted wryly, relieved to be off the hook. He had never been good at the _emotional_ side of things. He was basically an ostrich with his head in the ground. Crying and hugging wasn't really his deal but pouring a drink? Now _that_ he could do.

"Promised? I didn't even fuckin' invite you up here. You steamrollered me into it. No – wait – you _threatened_ me."

He'd crossed the room as he'd been delivering his missive and had come to a halt beside a low shelf. There was a clinking as he began to sort through bottles, before eventually pulling something out.

 _Remy Martin_.

Stephanie shrugged.

It was better than nothing besides which she didn't really want to push her luck. So instead she sat silently, watching him pour a glass for her, before finally drawing the conversation back.

"I didn't send them after you, you know – Seth and Roman – they found you on their own. I mean, I assumed they would do but it wasn't an order, if that's what you're thinking? They care about you."

Dean snorted loudly and flopped down on the sofa, choosing the same cushion he had done for a year. Once upon a time it had been _her_ seat and sometimes he imagined that he could still smell her perfume, caught in the fibres.

Not today though.

"Yeah well, maybe Roman but as for Seth – that little weasel doesn't _know_ the fuckin' word."

"Don't be too hard him on him – ,"

"He put me in the _hospital_."

"You know yourself he was a desperate man."

The fact that Steph's answer was eerily placid made Dean's temper instantly hitch up by a notch. What the hell was it with all these people? Seemingly willing to forget what Seth had done. He had broken their trust. He had hurt and betrayed them and suddenly everything was – what – _okay_?

Well it wasn't in his world, that was for certain and his eyes flashed danger as he hotly looked up,

"So you're on _his_ side?"

"No – ,"

"I think I'd like my drink back."

Stephanie rolled her eyes in return and held on to her glass of alcohol tighter,

"For god sakes stop being such a damn child. I'm not taking _his_ side but I'm not taking yours either. Yes, Seth attacked you and he should never have done that and it was a horrible, terrible betrayal for you. But both of us know what was going on behind it – Hunter had him deep in his control and until you've experienced that and been in its clutches, you have _no_ idea how powerful that can be."

It was the first time Stephanie had said his name in ages and as she did she couldn't help but flinch.

The sound of his name was physically painful and the memories – well – the memories were worse. It was a complex jumbled soup of emotions and encompassed everything from anger right back to love. How was it possible to adore and loathe someone? To want to forgive them but never see them again? Stephanie started to breathe a little quicker and it took her a moment to push the thoughts back down again.

Throughout the storm, Dean watched her closely and for the first time he realized that they were still in the same boat. The only person who could get what he was going through – the _only_ person – was Stephanie McMahon and while their situations were different, the only person who could get _her_ was him.

In response Dean simply sunk back against the cushions and waited for his boss to regain her control. It only took a matter of seconds but when she looked up she was Stephanie again, which meant that instead of looking tearful or awkward, she cleared her throat and took a sip of her drink,

"You alright?" Dean asked her gruffly, if only because he thought he should, "You – need anythin'?"

Stephanie didn't answer him – not directly anyway – but since the topic of conversation remained identical, Dean took that as a silent _I'm fine_. The woman was a McMahon after all and their emotional depth was hardly renowned.

On that front it probably mirrored his own.

"You know," Stephanie started, startling him slightly, "You're lucky to get this chance with Seth."

Dean frowned darkly.

"How d'ya figure that?"

"Because it proves he's serious about being forgiven. He wants to make amends for what he's done wrong. That's not something you can say about everyone. Some people aren't willing to admit their mistakes – no matter how glaring or obvious they are."

Dean glanced across at her, reading her silently,

"Still gettin' bitchy letters from Hunter?"

Her head shot up,

"How did you – ,"

"I know things."

Things like the fact that his boss' ex-husband had been sending her threats for almost three years, which technically should have been basically impossible since the fucker was locked up tight in jail. But that was the thing with Hunter Hearst Helmsley, he was damn charismatic and convincing as well. After all, if he could get _Seth_ to do his bidding then a couple of prison guards would have been easy as hell.

Back when Dean had first joined the academy, The Authority – as they had called themselves – were at the forefront of the force. Lead by Stephanie in her new post as commissioner and backed up by two respected senior staff. Batista and Orton had been damn well policing _legends_. City cops had practically _whispered_ their names.

Not so much anymore.

Then there was Hunter. Stephanie's husband and the undisputed head of The Authority power-tree. Not only had he been from a family of detectives but he had also been the long-standing DA and that position had given him influence over everyone from the mayor to his wife. In short they had looked both clean and unstoppable.

Until three years ago when it had fallen apart.

Thanks to Seth's betrayal – well not _thanks_ to but because of it – their crooked dealings had been exposed. But along with the breakdown of _The Shield_ in the process, their boss had very nearly lost her job. No one in the city – literally _no one_ – had been able to believe that she just hadn't known and it had taken her time and a whole lot of hard work to prove that she was still right for the role.

Seth's testimony on her innocence had helped as well.

Actually, Seth had done quite a lot –

Including hitting him in the head with a chair.

 _Don't forget that Dean. He's no good._

In the silence Stephanie sighed just a little and it was obvious that she was mulling over the same thoughts as well. Taking another long sip of her alcohol, she turned to towards him defiantly,

"Make up."

Dean blinked back at her,

"What?"

"Make it up with Seth."

"Is that an order?"

"No you idiot, it's a request. Make up with Seth and then _let go of it_. Don't end up alone and bitter like me. Trust me, it isn't a great place to be at and – frankly – you deserve a hell of a lot more."

It was easily the nicest thing she'd ever said to him and _because_ of that Dean's response was borderline alarm. The whole thing was crazy – getting The Shield back together – although suddenly he knew what it was about. Because, sure, okay, the crime thing was _part_ of it but beyond that she was trying to right Hunter's wrongs. She was trying to give he and Seth their old lives back and forge that brotherhood again. It wouldn't work – obviously – because they were now two different people but clearly Stephanie had felt she had to try.

 _Huh._

Momentarily the thought stopped Dean's emotions and the anger fell away from him to be replaced by – what – _calm_? It was weird to think she cared that deeply and even nicer that she cared about him. Ever since his childhood – ever since his _brotherhood_ – he hadn't really had much in the way of family and for the last years Stephanie had basically been it. Not that his boss could ever be his _family_ but there was no denying she came _kinda_ close.

Like a nagging mother or a doting great aunt.

Maybe it was time to mention the fact that she looked like her father?

 _Okay, maybe not._

But there was something building inside him – an impulse – and with a final blast of courage, he boldly took the plunge.

"Two weeks, right? That's my notice period?"

Her head shot up hopefully,

"Fourteen days. That's right."

Dean took a deep breath. What was he doing? He was crazy, that was it. He _had_ to be mad.

"So if I do this thing and hate it – which I will – when the two weeks is up, I'm still free to go, right?"

Stephanie blinked at him but she was smiling kind of smugly, as if she knew it wouldn't come to that. It made Dean bristle and he almost changed his mind again, simply to spite her.

Screw her.

Screw _them_.

He could make a new life wherever he wanted and whenever he wanted to do it as well.

"Yes," Stephanie nodded, "After that, you'll be free."

"This isn't me – like – _admittin'_ anythin', I'm doin' this because I have to. You get that right?"

It was a question that his boss chose not to answer and _damn it_ if that didn't annoy the crap out of him as well. She was just so fucking self-righteous and arrogant. One _more_ thing she shared with her father, as if looks and pig-headedness weren't already enough.

With a free hand, Stephanie dipped into her handbag and pulled something out from between the leather folds. Leaning forward, she put it down on the coffee table and Dean could see that it wasn't _one_ thing, but two.

She had brought his badge and his gun back for him.

She had known he would give in to her and like an idiot he had.

Throwing back the rest of her drink, she rose from the arm of the sofa she'd been perched on and placed the glass down. She was back to full strength. Dean wasn't sure whether it was from the alcohol or the victory but settled on it being a combination of both.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a manipulative bitch?"

She paused on the threshold of the lounge,

"Plenty. I was thinking of getting a sign made for my desk but then I figured I probably didn't want to advertise it too much. I might not be so effective if I did."

" _Wow_."

She turned towards the door and left him sitting there blinking, watching as she sauntered almost casually down the hall.

"Don't get up," she trilled at him briskly, "I'm sure I can find my way out from here. I'll expect you at the warehouse on Monday morning – did the others tell you I'd managed to get the old place back? We start at eight sharp Dean, try not to be late for once."

He frowned at her.

 _Late?_

Since when was he late? Besides, how was it even possible to be late when things couldn't start until he was there? In response he shrugged and tried to sound lazy, despite the sudden, loud pounding of his heart,

"I'll get there when I get there."

Stephanie rolled her eyes at him and there was a sudden rush of air as she opened the front door. The force of the vacuum channelled air in through the window and shot it like a dart straight into the room. It ruffled his untidy tangle of loose curls but if his boss noticed the effect it was having, then she chose not to mention it.

More likely she didn't care.

She was halfway out into the hall before she spoke again, once last sentence – as ever – on her lips.

"The three of you did great things back in the day Dean and _together_ I know you'll do them again."

Then the door slammed and the blast of air died with it, leaving him alone again.

"Son of a bitch."

* * *

 **So, the gang's all back together again. But how do you think they're going to get on?**


	4. Something Better Beginning

**I loved writing this chapter, it just seemed to pour out. Of course, that doesn't mean anything unless you guys like it, so I hope you do.**

 **Andrew27King, I know! Raw totally stole my thunder (I'm gonna have words) but no, I think he needs forgiving too. Just like on the show though, my Dean's not completely convinced either!**

 **Skovko, hi! Glad to have you in on this one too. Kinda different from the other one but I hope you like it just as well.**

 **Ohana1337, thanks. I really like Dean and Steph's dynamic in this. I'm not sure what I was aiming for when I started, but they kind of evolved into this sparky brother-sister type thing as I went along! That continues in this chapter…**

* * *

 **Something Better Beginning**

Pitching back up at the warehouse on the Monday morning was a littlelike returning to school for a new semester. Things – in essence – were the same but also _different_ and there was a worrying feeling almost like he belonged.

 _Damn._

He hadn't wanted to feel that.

He'd desperately wanted it to seem all wrong.

Stephanie hadn't told him the combination to get into the place but based on that alone he assumed it hadn't changed and letting out a sigh he punched in the numbers,

744353.

 _Shield_

Sure enough the door let out a click and the noise was enough to shoot his heart into his throat. Not that he was nervous about it but –

Oh who was he kidding?

He totally fuckin' was.

For the next two weeks he would be stepping back in time. To a time when he'd been happy – he didn't want that anymore. He didn't want their brotherhood or that cosy little unit. What was the point when it would just implode again? If life had taught him anything about anything then it was that people always left him.

The trick was to not get too attached.

On that front he had failed – three times across the years – which was why he was determined not to fall for it again and with that thought in mind he stepped across the threshold and let the door bang shut and seal out the light.

How many times had he done _that_ before?

How many times would he do it again?

He stood for a second and let his eyes get adjusted even he knew he was in a big empty space. There were windows on all sides – those big industrial type ones – but they were so grimed over they made little difference.

Not that Dean needed to see the inside.

He knew from experience there was nothing to see there apart from dust and supportive steel legs that ran top to toe right the way through the building and punched through each floor like rusty old trees. The only thing of note was the staircase, which he skirted towards and headed up steadily, habitually taking two steps at a time. There was light at the top and the smell of fresh air again and he emerged into a familiar but different world.

 _Christ._

The first floor windows were cleaned and propped open and the ground had been swept to reveal the wooden slats. Three desks had been set up – one beneath each casement – and there was a big sort of _conference_ table slotted in between. There were computers and lights and a screen on the far wall which had already been set up with the details of a case. There was also a whiteboard dotted with mugshots and a sprawling map of the city pinned up alongside. In one corner there were sofas and a kitchen, flanked by – Dean blinked – wait, was that a freakin' _pool table_ too? Clearly Stephanie had gone _all out_ on this one.

They'd never had an actual recreation space before.

"Fuck."

As he gazed around in total astonishment, two semi-hesitant faces gazed back. They were gathered around the big screen, with Stephanie stood in front of them and their expressions were a mixture of uncertainty and relief.

"Ambrose," Stephanie drawled at him shortly, "You're late."

"You're lucky I'm here at all."

"I told you eight sharp,"

"And I told _you_ that I would be here when I got here – which happens to be now."

As he spoke he stripped off his jacket and flung it over the back of a chair. It was only after he'd thrown it however – and nailed it for that matter – that he realised what he'd done. The chair he'd tossed it at was the one on the far right, with its back to the others.

His old desk.

He had gravitated towards it instinctively and the move had drawn a smug smirk from Seth. Dean was tempted to wipe it off _physically_ but fortunately Stephanie spoke up again,

"Well since you've decided to grace us with your presence, perhaps you'd like to take a seat?"

He ignored the sarcasm and crossed the space towards them before slotting into a chair that seemed the furthest from the rest. Roman was grinning across at him broadly and he snorted a little and tried not to smile back.

"Carry on boss."

"Well _Ambrose_ , as I was saying – ,"

She clicked a button and an image flashed in front of them making Dean turn his head to work out what it was. It was the body of a man lying face-down and naked and there were two neat gouges placed halfway up his back. They were clean incisions – they almost looked surgical – and from the pallor of his skin it looked like he'd lost blood.

"What the hell," Seth offered articulately, "Has someone cut his _kidneys_ out?"

"In a word? _Yes_."

Roman frowned at her a little,

"Black market?"

"That's definitely our best guess so far."

"But you don't know?"

"What we _know_ is that over six months we've got four victims and they all look like this."

Seth sat back in his chair frowning lightly and his features pulled together in considered thought,

"But I thought in black market deals you only took one kidney? Had the surgery in a motel room somewhere, got paid for it and walked out a couple hours later _alive_."

Roman nodded slowly,

"So I guess what _that_ means is that whoever's running this deal _ain't_ handing out all of the facts. Guys come on board thinking it's easy money and meanwhile they get both their kidneys cut out."

"Either that or we're dealin' with Hannibal Lecter."

At Dean's wry assessment everyone shut up and glanced in his direction with varying expressions. It was standard Dean and they clearly both remembered it. Roman bit back a half-cough half-snort. Stephanie however was less impressed by it and chose to pretend he hadn't spoken at all.

"That's what we're thinking – ,"

"What? _Hannibal Lecter_?"

Like Dean was about to let her off.

His boss let out a sigh and rolled her eyes so violently that for a minute he thought the damn things might fall out,

"We _think_ it's a ruthless black market deal."

"Oh."

Hannibal Lecter would have been way more cool though and Dean shot Roman another sly grin.

"Are the victims connected?" Seth offered professionally, "Age? Background?"

Stephanie nodded,

"Yes and yes. All the victims were males in their late twenties early thirties and all of them were physically fit. In terms of their histories they were all unemployed and three out of four of them had problems with drink and drugs."

As she replied she was scrolling through pictures and the images of the deceased men slapped the flippancy from Dean's face. Seeing them as people made the whole thing starkly real to him and in an instant he was fully business again.

"What about the fourth?"

Seth glanced across to look at him and not for the first time he marvelled at the sudden switch. It was one of the things that had always intrigued him – Dean's ability to flip moods in a blink.

"The _fourth_ ," replied Stephanie, glad he was serious and quickly turning to root through some files, "Was about to be foreclosed on."

"So they all needed cash."

It wasn't a question and so Stephanie didn't answer but everyone was thinking the same thing.

 _Yes._

But that wasn't _all_ that the three of them were thinking and a quick look between confirmed it at once. It felt strange to be back on a telepathic wavelength and Dean baulked at it a little.

 _Don't get sucked back in._

Sitting forward in his chair and sighing, he took up position as group spokesman again,

"Alright, so why us? I mean, not that this isn't some bad shit or whatever but it kinda seems like _detective_ stuff, y'know? I thought you called _us_ in to deal with the shady deals. Isn't this a little – I don't know – sorta _tame_?"

It was a fairly blunt delivery – pure Dean Ambrose – and in response Stephanie took a seat on the edge of the table and let the files drop into her lap,

"Maybe I'm breaking you boys back in gently."

"Don't buy it."

" _Fine_. You want the truth?"

Her glare was fiercesome but Dean gazed back lightly. This was a dance they had done many times. Stephanie McMahon never gave full details, she liked her employees to try and pry them out. It proved they were on it or involved or some other shit. Dean simply did it because riling her was fun.

"The truth seems like a good place to start," Seth replied evenly,

 _There_ was fucking irony.

Dean glared back at him,

"The truth is we need someone with a certain – shall we say – _skillset_. Someone who knows how to act on the streets, someone who could pass for an unemployed alcoholic, someone who looks scruffy and vaguely unkempt."

She was smiling so sweetly that the words took a moment to fully sink in.

Dean blinked when they did,

"Wait a minute, you talkin' 'bout _me_?"

Stephanie made a gun of her fingers and clicked her tongue at him condescendingly,

"Very good Ambrose, I'm glad you're keeping up."

Roman cleared his throat,

"You want him undercover?"

There was something deep and unhappy in his question and Dean could see his protective streak flare. It was something he hadn't seen in over twelve months and it struck him suddenly just how much he'd missed the thing. He'd missed someone instantly having his back, looking out for him, caring about his wellbeing.

He'd missed his brother – but, no, not this again – that ship had sailed.

 _Don't get sucked back in._

"Hold up, did you just call me _unkempt_?"

"That and _scruffy_ ," Seth put in helpfully, "Said you could pass for an alcoholic as well."

Everyone ignored him,

"So if this is about Dean, then why are Seth and I here?"

Stephanie smiled and it was like she had been waiting to get to this part of the conversation all along. She had probably rehearsed it in the car on the way over there. Yet _another_ thing she had in common with her old man.

"Because the people we are dealing with here are ruthless and not only that but they're professional too. The surgical incisions have been made by an expert, which means we're looking at a qualified surgeon and probably one that is well-respected at what he does. Maybe they have a private practise and do this on the side – or maybe they don't. But the point is we don't know and we can't get in closer because the people we need to talk to can spot the cops a mile off. I need something different, something outside the box. What I _need_ is a team that can break down that door."

"Which is why you want to reform The Shield."

Again Roman's statement wasn't a question and so Stephanie merely shrugged back with a sigh,

"You boys are the very best option we've got."

"Best option you _had_ ," Dean replied bluntly, "We still don't know if this shit will work."

"Actually, it doesn't need to _work_ Ambrose. It just needs to get me some god damn results. Who knows _what_ else this gang is into? If we can get them off the streets then we can shut it all down. _That_ is the priority here. Finding those responsible. Rebuilding relationships can come later – or never – I don't get much of a say in that."

For a second everyone stared at one another, letting themselves digest the words. Despite her sentiments, Dean knew she was bullshitting. She was _desperate_ for them to patch things up. But naturally the big bad boss couldn't say that. He only he knew it because he knew her like he did.

Sitting forward and blowing out a breath, Dean smirked up at her,

"Nice fuckin' pep talk. Seriously, that's it? _Do it or else_? Not exactly inspirin'."

"You're catching a killer Dean, not climbing a mountain. I don't prepare motivational quotes."

" _Live a life of grace, you'll be a better person for it_."

"Who said that?"

Dean grinned,

"Chevy Chase."

Stephanie rolled her eyes in frustration but fortunately her response was interrupted by Seth,

"Is there a reason the incisions are on the back and not the side? I thought you got to the kidneys from the side?"

Everyone's attention turned back to the screen and again Dean was drawn to the deep red grooves. It was a horrible thought – what these people were doing – stealing the organs from unwilling folk. Leaving them to bleed to death. Even if he was still a little sketchy on _The Shield thing_ he was damned if he was going to let this gang keep at their work.

Once again Stephanie was rooting through the paper files, skimming through the pages with a flick of her hand,

"Apparently that's down to personal preference. There's no right way or wrong way."

"So you're saying it's the surgeon's choice?"

"Yes."

Seeing the direction that Seth's mind was headed, Roman sat forward with an inquisitive frown. It was interesting for Dean to watch the two of them reacting. It was like watching their policing flowers re-bloom.

"Couldn't that be a way to track down the surgeon? What's the ratio between them?"

"Already done,"

Stephanie's reply came complete with a flourish as she pulled free a stack of typed-up sheets. She handed it across to him and Seth leant in closer, as both men's eyes quickly scanned the first page,

"Jesus,"

"Those are the details of every nephrologist working in the city as of now. We've got address, dates, medical histories, everything, _including_ their preferences on side entry or back. Those who make incisions in the back are listed on the first three sheets."

"There's twenty names on here."

As Seth looked up at her, Stephanie shrugged back at him and the message was clear.

 _Now you see why we're stuck._

Dean blinked,

"Okay _boss_ , so what's our next move then, huh? I mean, since you're the one who's got all the answers and dreamt this little reunion up – what do you want us to do?"

"That's up to you boys."

"Oh, I think we _all_ know it's not."

Stephanie glared back at him but it had happened so much that over the years he had slowly become immune. In the stare-off however, Seth cleared his throat awkwardly and leant across to point at the files,

"Well you said you wanted Dean undercover and since the victims all came from the same place, I'm guessing you want us to start somewhere there? Find out where they used to go drinking, ask a few questions about making quick bucks. Then in meantime start running through these surgeons – work out who's got the connections and the means."

Stephanie nodded,

"Nicely done Rollins."

Dean snorted,

" _Please_ , he's fresh out of prison. He probably _knows_ the dude – they probably shared a cell."

As the words echoed off the space around them noisily, Dean couldn't help but notice Seth's face. It wasn't annoyed or heated like he expected, it was actually kind of _crushed_ looking instead. Clearly the barbs had found their target and Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that. Even Roman was frowning mildly.

Great.

Now suddenly _he_ was the asshole.

"Ambrose – ," Stephanie snapped in annoyance and Dean held his hands up in frustration,

 _Ugh._

" _Fine._ Great idea Seth – good thinkin' buddy. Y'know how much I love shitty undercover work."

It was deeply sarcastic but it was _at least_ a vague effort and for the moment it would have to do. Rolling her eyes again, Stephanie snatched a file up and stalked past the big screen to drop it in his lap. It landed with a thud in his crotch and he grunted but purposefully didn't respond to her smirk,

"This is all the information we have on the victims. Their backgrounds, contacts and most importantly _where they drank_. We think whoever put them in touch with the traffickers must have been someone they met in a bar – someone who overheard their situation and offered them a way out. You need to track them down. I'll need you to ditch your gun for this one Ambrose. You need to seem helpless,"

"Oh, come on. You just gave it back. I'm already puttin' myself out there as bait. I can't do it armed?"

"In a word? _No_."

Roman's brows furrowed at Stephanie's answer and he glanced across reassuringly,

"Don't worry _uce_ , we'll be there."

The familiar nickname rippled through Dean like a shudder and its many implications too. Realistically he should have bitten Roman's head off for using it – they weren't fucking brothers, not any more – but oddly he couldn't bring himself to do anything and in the end the best he could manage was a nod. Stephanie seemed to take that as her cue and stood up briskly,

"Well, since it seems that everything's settled, I'll leave you to get started."

"Not stayin' for the fun?"

Seth and Roman had risen along with her, but Dean had remained pointedly slumped against his chair. Shooting a quick look at him, her expression swiftly darkened and she glared at him warningly,

"Ambrose. _Behave yourself_."

He flapped an airy hand in response, not refusing but not agreeing to it either. The movement drew another weary sigh and shaking her head, Stephanie headed for the exit. They stood in silence as she stomped down the stairs again and didn't move until the heard the metal door slam.

Someone – maybe it was even Dean himself – let out a sigh but no one spoke after that. What were they even _supposed_ to say? There they were, on their own as a team for the first time in three years.

But they were _not_ a fucking team.

In the drawn out silence, Roman shook his head a little and gestured towards the kitchen,

"Grab anyone a coffee?"

It seemed like a fairly safe place to start and so Seth nodded back at him,

"Yeah man, I'll take a – ,"

"Flat white double shot," Roman smiled, "I remember."

Dean snorted,

"Remember how he hit me across the head with a chair?"

"I remember that too," Roman responded easily, like a father dealing with bickering kids, "But that hasn't got anything to do with coffee. Uce? You still want yours straight up black?"

Dean glowered at him like a child.

" _No_."

"No?"

"Okay, yes."

Across from him Seth was still looking uncomfortable and it occurred to Dean that he had managed to make him too hangdog to even speak.

 _Fuck._

Why was it that things were never damn easy? More importantly, how the fuck was their team ever going to work? As Roman set the coffee machine whirring in the background, Seth gestured vaguely and opened his mouth,

"Look man – ,"

"Forget it," Dean sighed in resentment, _attempting_ to be the bigger man, "Let's just focus on findin' these fuckers and gettin' the job done, sound like a plan?"

Seth nodded back at him eagerly,

"Sure does man,"

"Good," Dean flung a file across, "Then we need to make a list of the bars the victims hung out in, I'll need to hit 'em up one by one."

"Shouldn't be hard for a scruffy alcoholic," Roman grinned wryly, holding out a steaming cup. Dean took it from him and shot a scowl upwards, but it was far from convincing and it made Roman laugh.

The ease of being with them was startling and alarming and mixed with a million fucking things all at once. Dean didn't know how the hell he was feeling but he knew he didn't like it – or maybe he did.

 _Don't get sucked in._

The one thing he knew with absolute clarity was that in no fucking way were the three of them a team. Once the job was done, he was leaving for good and no one could talk him out of it.

Dean Ambrose was done.

* * *

 **Do we really believe that though?**


	5. Scrapheap City

**So, the mission begins. A new character in this one and a cameo as well. Hope everyone enjoys.**

 **Skovko, I figured that it would be a good way to rile Stephanie so it seemed appropriate!**

 **Ohana1337, Glad you're still enjoying it...wish granted, here is more!**

 **Andrew27king, They certainly do, in a big way as well!**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, Aww, thanks, someone loving your work is always a great compliment to get. Don't worry, more is on the way!**

* * *

 **Scrapheap City**

The victims had been from an area of Suplex known as _The Battleground_. It was a forgotten sort of place. A place that young guys struggled to get out of and find opportunities outside of crime or a box. The entire borough was run-down and just _grimy_ and the whole place lacked life or any kind of hope. Dean had grown up in a place much like it, but The Battleground made even _his_ neighbourhood look good. Frankly, the place was suitable for nothing except heavy demolition or, like, a Biblical _flood_ , which was why it was so completely unsettling that in terms of his appearance, Dean looked like he belonged.

As in _really_ looked like it.

The locals seemed to think so anyway, because in the – close to – three hours he had been hitting up bars there, no one had batted an eyelid his direction. No one had asked who he was or what he was doing there and no one had beaten him into a pulp.

So far so good.

In fact if it wasn't for the minor detail that the place was a crap hole, Dean might have chosen to start his new life there. Why not? He obviously already had the look down. Surely that was half the work?

There was a crackle in his ear and he winced just a little and spun in the direction of a van parked down the street,

" _Hey uce, you okay?_ "

Dean flapped his hands at it, making the gesture as discreet as he could.

" _It's just you weren't moving_ – ,"

"Well forgive me for fuckin' thinkin'," Dean shot back testily, aware that of the both men could hear. In their absence as a functioning team, some obvious technological advances had been made. Among them were covert surveillance equipment because _god_ were the earpieces miniscule now. Dean was half-worried he would lose the thing _internally_ and it would stay there forever just drifting round his brain. He wondered if you could die from it, or if it was even possiblebut was rudely interrupted by Roman speaking again,

" _The next bar's just a little further down the road. We'll hang back here. Shout if you need us. If you're lucky we might bust in and save your ass._ "

"My ass has been doin' just fine without _your_ ass, so how 'bout we leave this one to me, huh?"

He could practically _hear_ them smile over the wire and he hated that it almost made him smile back. Putting his head down, he stepped into the bar and then promptly almost stepped straight back out. None of the bars he had been in that morning were exactly _classy_ , but this was easily the worst.

For a start the place was practically in darkness and lit by a variety of novelty neon signs. Half of them were for beer brands that had folded up years ago and the other half were random words like _bullshit_ and _buzz_. It was a long, thin bar, with tables down one side and a variety of disorganised bottles on the shelves. The floor was chipped and actually _sticky_ and the whole damn place seemed oppressive as hell. Choosing a bar stool that wasn't ripped to pieces and then badly taped back over again, Dean hopped onto it and dropped his elbows on the bar-top, trying to avoid the many puddles of booze,

The bartender didn't even bother to look up at him and simply slung him a bored sounding –

"Yeah?"

"Give me a beer," Dean replied brusquely, flipping a few notes over, "Whatever you got,"

A bottle was shoved down the counter towards him, ploughing through the middle of a spillage on its way. Dean scooped it up and tried not to look unhappy as someone else's beverage trickled right across his thumb.

"That's four dollars."

"I've only got three man," Dean turned his hands over, "Can you let a brother off?"

The bartender was tall and pretty thin-set but muscular, with a goatee and slicked back black hair. His arms and the chest underneath his white t-shirt were a mass of bright, interconnected tattoos and his eyes were sharp and coolly appraising. His expression gave Dean his answer.

 _No._

He would definitely _not_ let a brother off and so Dean fumbled quickly around in his pocket and pulled loose some change,

"Hey, look at that, huh? Had some more after all."

The bartender responded with a grunt of pure malice and hastily Dean passed the money across. If it was possible then the area behind the sticky counter was even worse than the rest of the place itself, with seventies-style kitchen cupboards badly taped together and more cheesy stickers than he had thought could exist.

 _I love pink taco._

 _Vanilla Gorilla._

 _Turbodog._

 _I heart guns._

The place felt almost borderline _schizophrenic_ and the screen in the corner wasn't helping much, alternating wildly between blue lines of static and a sports channel with the colour contrast royally jacked up.

He could feel a headache starting to come on.

" _Come on Dean_ ," he heard Seth in his earpiece and he bristled instinctively, " _We've not got all day_."

"Fuck you."

The bartender looked round at him sharply,

"Did you say something?"

"Uh _no_ , not to you. I uh – I just had an argument with my girl is all. She's complainin' about me not findin' any work. Money's been kind of tight lately, y'know?"

Considering that he was thinking on the fly – and _damn it all_ Seth – it was a pretty good ruse. Certainly _plausible_ at least if nothing else. Not that the bartender seemed much moved by it all. In fact the guy didn't even _speak_.

" _Push him, see if he's got any contacts_."

 _Damn it Seth, stop buggin' me._

It wasn't as if he didn't know how it worked.

"Hey I don't suppose – I mean – you wouldn't have any work goin' here would you man? I'm not lookin' for much. Just _somethin'_ y'know? A few bucks here and there to put food on the table. It's not for me or nothin', I'm just tryn'a feed my kids."

The bartender snorted and looked back at him accusingly,

"Along with that habit I'm bettin' you've got."

 _Jesus._

Even _this_ guy thought he was an addict. Maybe it was time he cut his fucking hair, or overhauled his wardrobe or had a make-over or _something_. Being mistaken for a junkie was getting old. Dean shrugged mildly,

"Well, I mean, maybe _sometimes_ I have a little puff but who doesn't y'know?"

The bartender's expression briefly darkened and he shook his head to shut him down.

"I ain't got nothin' for ya man, but even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you."

Then he turned and walked off into the backroom, signalling abruptly that their conversation was done. Dean blinked after him in shades of amazement. What were the odds of finding a straight edge? A straight edge in _The Battleground_ who owned a damn bar?

" _So I take it that guy isn't our man then_?"

Dean rolled his eyes at Seth's voice,

"No."

He wanted to throw in a snarky _Captain Obvious_ but managed to stop himself just in time. Roman sighed down the channels of the earpiece and Dean could hear him rustling through the file,

" _Want to try the next one_?"

Dean slid off the barstool wearily, pulling loose a piece of the tape, instantly stuffing starting haemorrhaging from out it and he rolled his eyes.

 _Fuckin' great._

He was about to turn and simply walk out of there when a figure stepped in front of him.

"Hey there."

Dean stopped.

He didn't like what he saw.

The guy was white – as in _ridiculously_ milky – but his pale skin was offset by vibrant red hair. It was shaven on both sides and then swept up into a mohawk that complimented his _actually braided_ goatee. There was an accent too which was broad and lilting and –

Wait, were those fucking _ornaments_ in his beard? Dean was so busy trying to figure out the answer that he almost forgot to say anything back.

"Oh – uh – _hey_."

"So I couldn't help overhear you talkin' to Punk back there. Sounds like you've got it pretty rough?"

Momentarily, Dean's body stiffened but outwardly he shrugged and tried to play it off,

"Times are hard. Everyone's strugglin'."

"Some of us more than others though, huh?"

The stranger smiled at him with a creepy expression and Dean scratched absently at the back of his head. Or, at least, it _looked_ like it was absent. In reality it was a trick to draw the guy in. People who were itchy or generally _awkward_ had less chance of being pegged as cops.

"You got _that_ right," Dean whistled back, "Kinda startin' to get desperate now. Y'know how it is?"

The guy nodded,

"Sure I do. Say, what's your name there feller?"

"Jon – Jon Moxley,"

He held out his hand and the other man took it, pumping it up and down like a piston. Arm muscles bulged out from underneath his shirt sleeves and owing to what was no doubt some serious gym hours, the Irishman's grip was firm and strong.

"Name's Sheamus."

Dean nodded,

"Nice to meet you."

"Wanna join me at my table? I'll buy you another drink."

"Sounds pretty good, thanks man."

"No problem, I'm over by the window. I'll be right back."

Turning the guy headed back towards the counter and waited for the surly-looking barman to reappear. Dean watched him go with a frisson of excitement. This was their guy right? Like, he _had_ to be? Either that or he was unknowingly being hit on which seemed pretty unlikely in that part of town. Letting out a sigh, he turned towards the table and slid himself cautiously into the corner of the booth. Describing the location as _by the window_ was a stretch considering the thing was boarded clean up, but the darkness allowed him to tap at his earpiece and murmur quietly,

"You guys gettin' this?"

" _Sure are_ ," Seth responded, " _You think it's him_?"

Roman was more explicit,

" _You okay_?"

His instant _mother-henning_ was strangely reassuring and Dean bit back the ghost of a smile,

"Yeah, I'm good. I'll see what I can get from him. Kinda feelin' like this _could_ be the guy."

" _Alright but be careful, this dude might be dangerous_."

"Don't worry Big Man, I've done this before."

By the time Sheamus returned with two dripping bottles, Dean had already settled on an act. He was going to play his _Moxley_ alter-ego as friendly and trusting and _desperate_ for a buck. He was also going to play him as a borderline dependent and so as the beer hit the table, he snatched it right up. The alcohol tasted dirty and bitter and after twelve months without it, the suds burnt his throat.

 _Wow._

In many ways it was kind of pathetic. Once upon a time he'd been the _king_ of hard booze. Now there he was feeling mildly light-headed after one lonely sip of what was essentially weak ass shit. After a life of sin and damn near _debauchery_ , at the age of thirty one, he'd become a god damn nun.

Instead of _saying_ that however, he held up the bottle and nodded his head,

"Tastes good, thanks man. I owe you – for _real_."

"What _this_? Nah, don't mention it. I'm sure you'd do the same for me, right?"

Dean nodded puppy-like back at him,

"Sure."

"So what's going on feller? Wanna talk about it?"

Dean shrugged,

"What's there to talk about? I got laid off."

"Which has made things kind of _difficult_ at home, right?"

Dean snorted loudly,

"Man, you got _that_ right. Y'know what my girl did? She packed up my crap and fuckin' _threw me out_. Now she's sayin' I can't see the kids until I _prove I'm responsible_ or some shit like that."

For extra points on the sympathy front Dean laughed bitterly and threw back a few more chugs.

 _Yuk._

Sheamus however merely shook his head sadly and heaved a heavy-sounding sigh. If Dean wasn't a god damn professional _bullshit_ spotter then he might have been tempted to believe the guy too.

"I'm sorry Jon, that sounds rough."

"You're tellin' me dude. It's the fuckin' _worst_."

As Dean rocked his bottle from left to right on the table – once again affecting an _intentional_ unintentional tick – Sheamus took a little chug of his own beer but Dean could see him dribble it back down the neck. If his instinct hadn't pegged the guy as false already then that little number would pretty much have done the trick.

Why buy a beer if you weren't going to drink it?

Why pretend you were?

Surely it fucking _had_ to be him.

"Any idea where you're going to find work Jon?"

Dean shook his head,

"No fuckin' clue. I've tried – like – every place I can _think_ of. Why do you think I ended up here?"

Sheamus nodded back at him, achingly silent then made a big show like he was trying to think. It was a clumsy, over-the-top little performance – the moron actually _tapped at his lips_ – but on the flip side it made Dean feel like Pacino and if it got them to the next stage then so be it.

" _This guy sounds like an idiot. You sure it's him_?"

For a man who had been out of the loop for almost three years, Seth's perceptiveness clearly hadn't warn off. He could seemingly tell an idiot from mere silence and although Dean still rankled at the thought of working with him, he couldn't help but stifle a grin.

Sheamus snapped him right back out of it,

"Look feller, I like you – I mean, you seem like a nice guy and we all need to help each other out these days, so I _think_ I might have something that can help with your cash flow situation, alright? I'm warning you though, it isn't for everyone but if you do it then I _guarantee_ your problems will be solved."

Unless your problems centred around dialysis, in which case they were far more likely to get worse. Dean sat forward in his chair like a child waiting for a present,

"You serious man? _How_?"

Two could play the _hamming-it-up game_ only Sheamus was too damn stupid to know. Glancing quickly around the bar – which was still as deserted as it had been when he'd arrived – Sheamus leant in close across the table and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial hiss,

"There are certain things that other people want which sell for a _fortune_."

"Things like what?"

"Things we've all got."

Dean had to hand to the man he'd called a moron – he was keeping his cards pretty close to his chest. So far what they had was totally inadmissible and amounted to nothing more than a pep talk.

" _Get him to say it Dean_."

 _Shut up Seth._

Dean screwed his brows up and offered across a frown,

"I'm not sure I'm really _gettin'_ you man. What the hell do I have that anyone would pay for?"

"You'd be surprised."

"I would, huh?"

Suddenly seeming to lose confidence in the whole thing, Sheamus shook his head and sat back against the booth. In the silence he scooped up his beer and took another swig and – _yep_ – once again he spat it straight back.

 _Fucker._

"Look, forget I mentioned it. I can see it's not your thing – ,"

" _No, no_. I mean, I'm pretty desperate here, right? So – I don't know man – can you maybe tell me a little bit more? Like, what would I be getting into here? Is it dangerous?"

He was asking the questions that he assumed anyone would but also the ones that would highlight his interest. It was a balancing act between sounding too keen and sounding too nervous. Luckily however, he got it just right. The next thing he knew, Sheamus was leaning closer and looking around cautiously,

"Not here feller, alright? Not here."

"So where?"

The other man licked his lips like he was anxious, or maybe it was just from the thrill of the chase. Idly Dean wondered how much bringing in poor schmucks netted the guy. He was certainly wearing a pretty fancy watch.

Fancier than Dean's was at any rate.

"You know the old bowling alley on the corner of Austin and Rock?"

He didn't but figured it wouldn't take long to find it and he was rewarded with tapping and then a voice in his ear,

" _Got it_."

He nodded at Sheamus,

"Sure."

"Meet me there at nine tonight. Come alone okay? We'll talk a little more."

Partly because he thought he should – for the sake of character – and partly to rile him up, Dean frowned mildly and kept up the confused act,

"Hey man, why all this cloak and daggers stuff? You're startin' to worry me a little here, y'know?"

"No, no – I just don't want anyone else to overhear us. I mean, this is a favour I'm doing for _you_ here. I wouldn't want everyone round these parts to know."

" _Oh_ ," Dean responded, nodding like he bought it, "I got ya man. Comin' through loud and clear."

"Once we're somewhere – you know – _quieter_ , I can answer your questions. I'm guessing you've got a few?"

"Just one at the moment."

"Which is what?"

"Does it pay well?"

"How does five grand sound?"

Dean's mouth dropped in genuine shock.

 _Not fucking good._

Provided the guy was talking about body parts – which he _had_ to be although he hadn't actually said as much – then kidneys could sell for _twenty times_ that privately. Not that Dean should have been all that surprised. Criminals weren't big on sharing profit after all. But still, there he was near enough offering up his body and this Sheamus guy was selling him out.

"Sounds great man."

"I told you it would solve things but like I said, I can fill in all the gaps for you later. You still in?"

Dean blinked back at him, thinking for a second – or appearing to at least.

"Yeah – fuck it – what the hell, I'm in."

Sheamus grinned broadly,

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. I told you Jon, I like you, alright? I'll look after ya."

" _I bet he will_."

At the sound of Roman's voice in his ear, Dean smirked a little but reached forward to raise his beer. Sheamus caught on quickly and lifted his own up to meet it and the sound of chinking glass echoed up and down the bar.

"To new beginnings man," Dean smiled obliquely, "And – like – better things, _right_?"

"Right," Sheamus nodded, "Trust me feller. You're going to be a very rich man."

* * *

 **Don't ask me why Sheamus is the bad guy. He just seemed a good fit. We meet some friends of his in the next chapter and yes - before you ask - they're wrestlers as well!**


	6. Introduction To Solution

**What's a wrestling story without cameos? Skovko, I hope you like these ones!**

* * *

 **Introduction To Solution**

"I don't like this," Roman offered for the third time, "I've got a bad feeling about this guy."

Dean snorted wryly, stretching his legs out and wincing as they collided with the solid metal side. That was one of the dangers of being taller – the inability to fit comfortably inside a surveillance truck. Not to mention any seat _anywhere_ that wasn't located next to an aisle.

"Well, providin' we've got ourselves the right guy here, he tricks people into gettin' their fuckin' _organs_ ripped out. Pretty sure a _bad feeling_ is the only type to have at this point, y'know?"

Roman rolled his eyes a little,

"Not about what he _does_. I meant what he wants with _you_. Because at this point we have no idea how this deal goes down. We're going in blind here."

Dean blinked at him,

"Hold on – you're worried about _me_? What the fuck for?"

"Why do you think?"

Big brown eyes stared back at Dean pointedly and he cleared his throat awkwardly and pushed it to one side. He was completely out of practise with having someone care for him and he was _not_ prepared to admit that it actually felt nice. Roman had always fussed over him a little and the fact that he still _did_ was both reassuring and alarming.

 _Different but the same._

"So, you all good on your background story?" Seth asked, interrupting the love-in, "Want to go over the details again?"

Dean glanced across at him, appraising him carefully. Why the sudden change in tack? Could Seth sense that maybe he was feeling uncomfortable or did he not like the reminders that Dean and Roman were still close?

"No, I'm good. Do I look like a rookie?"

Seth threw his eyes skywards,

"Did I fucking say you _were_?"

Dean muttered something that was vaguely incoherent but sitting alongside him, Roman grinned. The tension was still there – it was practically _zinging_ – but there was something almost _comforting_ about it as well. Even back when they'd been thicker than thieves, the three of them had bickered and argued consistently. It was kind of how their brotherhood had worked. The fact that Dean and Seth were picking on each other but not directly throwing any barbs, was oddly like flicking the reset button and for a second it made things seem not so bad.

It was pretty ironic.

"What are you laughin' at?"

Roman shook his head at the sharp blue eyes,

"Nothing."

Fortunately Dean's less than friendly reply was cut off by the sound of his wristwatch beeping and was joined by a flicker on the dashboard dial as both timepieces struck the hour.

Nine o'clock.

Time to get to work.

Sighing resentfully, Dean stretched his limbs out and pushed himself up from his seat with a groan. Despite his casual reassurances to Roman, the truth was that he felt pretty seriously _unsettled_. He had done undercover work before – it was his forte and his own speciality within their team – but that had been with drugs gangs or prostitution rackets. That had been _business_ , fucked up though it was. This time however, the stakes were so much higher.

This time it was murder.

No question about that.

"You good to go man?" Seth asked cautiously, surprised by the ensuing lack of retort.

"Uh huh."

"You sure?"

"Will you stop fuckin' worrying? The two of you are drivin' me mad over here."

Roman shook his head.

It really _was_ like old times but the re-emergence of their old patterns was a telling detail in itself. In the moment Dean seemed to have completely forgotten his permeant glowing hated of Seth and _that_ meant their teammate was clearly feeling rattled but trying his damnedest to keep it all in. Dean feeling scared wasn't something they were used to and it made Roman frown,

"We're right here babe."

 _Babe._

Dean flinched a little.

No one had called him that for a year. It struck him with equal parts comfort and annoyance and in the end it was the latter of those emotions that won through.

"Like I can forget with _him_ in my fuckin' earpiece, chatterin' away at me."

He gestured at Seth but at the same time was slipping back into his jacket and checking the wire on his hidden microphone pack.

"It's working," Seth supplied laconically, "I got that insult in stereo, so – you know – thanks for that."

Despite himself Dean smirked a little and the tension seemed to slightly lift off. Then an expensive saloon car drove past them and disappeared round towards the empty lot. No one from The Battleground drove big foreign-made cars and at the realization that it was probably Sheamus made Dean's expression drop again.

 _Show time._

"Try and get the name of the doctor. He's the guy we're after not the – ,"

"I've done this before Seth."

"Hey," Roman offered as Dean pulled the handle and listened to the solid sounding _click_ of the latch, "I meant it alright uce? We're right here if you need us."

"I won't. I'll be fine."

 _Besides, too little too late._

Then without a backwards glance, he pushed the doors open and hopped into the darkness before turning and slamming them firmly shut.

It was cold once out of the shelter of the van and Dean responded to the sudden drop in temperature by pulling up the zipper on his trusty leather jacket and stuffing his hands into the pocket of his jeans. Their surveillance truck was parked up outside some old building, with badly faded letters over what were once the doors and windows that were smashed and half-boarded up.

 _Ah, The Battleground._

Turning the corner into the business' old parking lot, Dean stopped short at the sight of three guys. Three huh? Shit was suddenly getting serious. Fortunately Sheamus was easy to pick out – given that he glowed like fucking moonlight on a lake – and Dean turned towards him, ignoring the newcomers and murmuring a message back to his teammates.

"He's brought some friends, two big dudes."

" _You need backup_?"

Typical Roman.

"Nah, not yet – let's see what goes down first."

" _Be careful uce_."

"That's the plan."

As he drew in towards the grim looking trio, Dean snapped on his character face and in an instant the drawn-browed, sharp-eyed policeman was replaced by a _wide_ -eyed, uncertain-looking mook. Sheamus had been leant against the hood of their saloon car but on seeing Dean approach he suddenly stood up, throwing his arms wide and walking towards him with a deeply insincere smile on his face,

"Moxley my man, glad you could make it,"

"Told you I would be here."

"I know – you did."

"So, who're these guys?" Dean looked around uncertainly, "They – like – _friends_ of yours or what?"

His baffled-seeming glance allowed him to look at the men properly and drink them in pound by villainous pound. There was a big guy sitting on a stack of upturned packing crates but his size came from his girth instead of hours in the gym. As seemed to be the staple in the area, he too had a little goatee beard and long brown hair which was scraped back into a ponytail. His shirt was wide open almost down to his nipples and there was a tacky looking gold chain slung around his neck. The whole thing afforded him the look of a porn baron, but one of those sleazy type ones from eighties who liked to give themselves roles in their films.

The other guy was taller – as in _way_ taller – than the rest of them and looked unhappy with everything he saw. He too had a goatee but a big thick dark one and small eyes that stared back like a lion spotting prey. In short he had the look of a scrapper and the fact that his ears stuck out like they'd been pulled there and his nose had clearly been broken and reset, did little to offer Dean much in the way of comfort.

The guy meant business.

He sounded like it too.

"What the fuck does it have to do with you who the fuck we are?"

Dean blinked.

The guy was British.

"Nothin' man," Dean shrugged, "I was just askin' – kind of new to this, y'know?"

"Sure, sure," Sheamus nodded back at him, placing a placating hand on the Englishman's breast, "Don't mind him, he just gets a little riled up. We care about our work, you understand?"

Dean almost laughed.

"Uh, yeah but – I mean – what work _is_ that exactly? Because you _kinda_ mentioned it before but didn't give me a whole lot to go on and if I'm gonna sign up to this thing – y'know – then I'm gonna wanna know what I'm lettin' myself in for. What the hell do I got that someone would be willin' to drop five grand for?"

Sheamus gazed back at him evenly,

"Organs."

"Organs?" Dean echoed, pretending to be shocked or confused or – hell – somewhere in between, "What does that mean? Like _internal_ organs?"

The Englishman snorted disparagingly at him,

"We're not talking _church_ fucking organs here are we? Unless you've got a couple knocking around."

"What's your problem man?"

" _Easy Dean_ ," Seth murmured in his earpiece but their teammate knew exactly what he was doing and he wasn't about to be put off. Dean was trying to test for any weaknesses and it seemed likely that their resident hot-head was it, " _Don't push him man_."

 _Shut up Seth._

As the British man suddenly came stamping in towards him, Dean acted scared and took a step back. The black goatee practically _towered_ in over him and an angry finger pointed in his face. It hadn't taken much – just one fucking question – but already the foreigner was dramatically on edge.

"My fucking problem _mate_ is you – ,"

"What did _I_ do? Come on man, I don't even know you."

"Barrett," Sheamus snapped from somewhere behind them and Dean smirked.

 _Bingo._

They had themselves a name.

His victory however was a pretty short-lived one as Barrett gave him a sudden two-handed shove. It was a powerful thrust that launched Dean backwards and he collided into the brickwork with an actual _grunt_. In the blink of an eye, Barrett was on top of him and holding the lapels of Dean's jacket in tight. It actually cut off the air just a little and Dean struggled to keep his _Moxley_ character intact. Really what he wanted to do was to rip the guy's head off but that didn't exactly scream _jittery alcoholic_ and so he simply stood against the cold wall unmoving while trying to look scared instead of royally pissed.

" _Uce? You alright? You need us to come out there?_ "

" _What's going on Dean? Talk to us man_."

Fortunately however the situation was rectified by the unannounced arrival of the bulkier man, who inserted himself between the two men fluidly and carefully began to back Barrett up.

"Come now, this is not how we treat client."

 _His_ voice was heavily accented too and his use of grammar ever so slightly broken. It was a fact that Dean decided to ham up and he let his eyes widen,

"Where the hell are _you_ from?"

"None business of yours."

Dean shook his head in wonder,

"It's like the god damn _League of Nations_ out here."

In his ear he heard the sound of Seth's distinctive snigger, followed by a deep inhalation of breath,

" _Okay, I've got it. British asshole guy is called Wade Barrett and he's got a rap sheet as long as your arm for fraud, assault, handling stolen goods, possession of a weapon –_ ,"

So basically, in short, he was _not_ a nice guy.

What the hell had happened to the immigration system?

"Mox?"

"Huh?"

At the sound of the nickname – which apparently he had now – Dean's head jerked up towards a milky white face. Sheamus had come in to stand alongside him and he was looking a combination of concerned – _fake_ – and pissed. Clearly he wasn't happy with Barrett scaring off their income and so was moving into heavy _damage limitation_ mode.

"You okay? Look, I'm sorry about that. I promise that's not going to happen again."

Dean nodded haltingly,

"I – uh – that's alright man, but – look – I'm not sure about this whole thing so – ,"

"No, no, no," Sheamus replied quickly, taking the bait and swallowing it whole, "Don't let's forget about that five thousand grand now and how it's going to change your life."

 _From someone who had kidneys to someone who's dead._

Dean shrugged a little and sighed,

"Well, I guess – ,"

"Good man, that's the spirit."

"But I still don't know really what this deal is about _._ I mean _organs_? Which ones? Isn't that some pretty – like – _dangerous_ kinda shit?"

Sheamus smiled back at him somewhat benignly, almost as if dealing with a naïve little child. It was obviously the expression he used to dupe people that he assumed knew nothing about the world.

"Nah, come on. It's not dangerous in the least. I told you Jon, I'll make sure you're looked after."

"Does that mean – does that mean _you_ do the surgery?"

Sheamus shook his head,

"No. We have an actual surgeon for that. Don't worry, he's amazing. He does this all the time. I've watched him perform over a hundred operations. Trust me, he knows _exactly_ what he's doing."

" _I bet he does_ ," Roman grunted darkly and Dean cleared his throat to force down his smile,

"So what would he be doing to me here? I mean, _if_ I agree to this thing."

"Well _if_ you agree, he would be harvesting a kidney. Just one – you've got two so it's not a big deal."

 _Oh sure._

"What _really_? You can live with one kidney?"

"Sure, some people are only born with one."

"So why do we have two?" Dean asked just to fuck with him but it quickly became obvious that in terms of giving answers, it wasn't exactly Sheamus' first time at the rodeo.

"It's just one of those little quirks of nature. A throwback to when people lived different lives. Did you know we all have the base of a tail bone? Haven't needed it in thousands of years, but there it is. Having two kidneys is just like that."

Impressive.

Total bullshit of course.

But impressive.

Dean frowned like he was thinking and then nodded his head,

"Okay so, if we only need one, then why would anybody pay so much for mine?"

"Because some people's don't work right or _stop_ working – they don't have any – and do you know what the hospitals do? They put them on a _list_. These folk are dying and they make them _wait_. Do you know what Moxley? Twenty two people die in this country every day while they are waiting on these lists. That's not right."

Honestly, Dean had to hand it to Sheamus, he knew how to spin a sob story alright. All he was missing was a tiny violin and a couple of crying children.

"So, if you take one of mine – ,"

"If we take one of yours then we can get it to where it's needed. What we're providing is a _service_ for those in need. That's why we need you – people just like you – people who can actually help. Can you Mox? Can you help them?"

Dean nodded haltingly.

 _Jesus_.

"Uh, I _guess_ but – I mean – I'd still get _paid_ for it, right?"

"Absolutely my man," Sheamus responded, beaming like Dean was some sort of martyr, heaven-sent to help the poor, "I keep telling you Mox, we're going to take good care of you. Stand-up fellers like you are hard to find."

It was a pretty interesting approach to the whole thing – the flattery angle. That was new. If Dean had really been a sad alcoholic then he had little doubt the speech would have completely pepped him up. Five thousand dollars to be a bona fide hero? What poor schmuck could say no to that?

"Do you think – do you think it would make my girl proud of me?"

"Are you kidding me? Mox, you're saving someone's life. If she wants you to step up and show you're worth something, what better way to do it than that? I promise you man, when you tell her what you've done here? You'll be back in her bed even faster than you can _blink_."

Dean chuckled,

"Really?"

"Trust me, I _know_ so."

Bouncing on his toes in a measure of excitement that Dean used both in and _out_ of the real world, he nodded resolutely and looked back grinning,

"Okay man, I'm in, alright? I mean, sign me up."

Sheamus laughed brightly,

"I knew I could count on you – I knew the second I laid eyes on you that you were a good man."

"So what happens now?"

"Right now? Nothing. You go back to your life like nothing has happened. You don't tell anyone about this, you understand? Not everyone gets what it is that we're doing here. The hospitals don't like us stealing their dough."

Dean shrugged his shoulders,

"I guess that figures."

"Big business trying to hold down the man."

Somewhere in his ear he heard Roman grumble and he could almost _see_ the look on his face,

" _Is this guy for real_?"

Sadly he was and as Dean blinked back vaguely in faux-bafflement-come-excitement, Sheamus drew in close and wrapped an arm around his neck,

"Once we've got word of someone who needs help, then we'll contact you and run through a couple of little tests – ,"

"Tests?"

"Nothing serious, just a few little blood tests – make sure you're healthy and we're all good to go. I mean, we wouldn't want to make the situation _worse_ for these poor folk now, would we?"

Dean thought about it,

"I guess not, no."

The response he got was a slap to the chest that reverberated through him and almost made him gasp. He wasn't sure if it was supposed to be friendly or mildly warning or a mixture of both. The one thing it did tell however – no question – was that Sheamus' _nice guy_ shtick was just that. The whole thing from his smile to his _man of the people_ deal was nothing more than an elaborate act.

An act that he clearly thought _Jon Moxley_ was falling for.

"We're going to do great things together feller," Sheamus continued as somewhere in the background, the Englishman – Wade Barrett – sneered and narrowed cold little eyes.

The guy was nuts.

Oh who was he kidding? They stole people's _organs_. They were _all_ fucking mad.

" _You okay uce_?"

Roman's voice centred him and Dean cleared his throat to assure them he was fine. Well, other than being pretty damn creeped out which trebled as Sheamus drew him closer to his side. Lowering his face, the Irishman leant into him, his pale lips practically brushing Dean's neck. His voice was gruff and endlessly unsettling as he practically _growled_ at him,

"We're going to save lives."

* * *

 **So I'm not sure why I chose the League of Nations (they're not exactly current I know). But I always kind of liked their swaggering arrogance and they seemed to fit, so hey, here they are! It would also have been nice to see The Shield go up against them, in real life I mean (well, on the show) so this is my way of sort of creating that. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now. See you next time.**


	7. All Of My Friends Were There

**Skovko, Hmmm, I could tell you but then I would have to kill you. Only kidding...I'll give you a** _ **maybe**_ **.**

 **Andrew27King, No worries, glad you're still enjoying it!**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, Yay, thank you!**

 **Here we go...**

* * *

 **All Of My Friends Were There**

"What about this one?"

Dean glanced over, casting his eyes across the image Seth had brought up and then shook his head,

"Nah, he was bigger than that, kinda _round_."

"You're not giving me a whole lot to go on here Dean."

"What do you want from me? I'm not the guy's mother. He was European, fat and had long hair."

Seth threw his hands up and swiped his finger across the tablet screen,

"Fine, then I guess I'll just have to keep looking."

"I guess you will."

Roman grinned at the terse exchange before him and then sipped at his coffee to shield the sight. The three of them had been huddled around the conference table in the warehouse since first light that morning, just trawling through notes. None of them had actually discussed when they were starting, they had all just sort of _turned up_ one by one. It had pleased Roman to know that they still had that telepathy but on the down side it seemed to have put Dean in a funk.

"Get you a refill babe?"

Dean merely grunted, which Roman took as a grudging sort of _yes_. Swiping up the coffee mug he headed for the kitchen, leaving his teammates to continue with the work. Since the previous evening's clandestine meet up they had managed to identify a number of the gang. Wade had been easy – thanks to his long rap sheet – but Sheamus had been a little harder to find. Not that there were many pasty Irishmen in Suplex but that he hadn't been in town _long enough_ to make his name. In the end it had been down to an old Irish arrest warrant to give them his particulars.

 _Stephen Farrelly_.

Born in Dublin and wanted in connection with a series of armed raids.

As it turned out you didn't _have_ to be an asshole to be in The League of Nations but it definitely helped. That's what they were still calling them as a shorthand.

 _The League of Nations_.

Dean's jokey nickname for them had stuck. It was possibly the one thing that morning that had made his grouchy frown fade, although Seth's sudden bark of excitement helped,

"Got him."

He spun the swanky tablet triumphantly in Dean's direction and a familiarly goatee-framed face stared back.

Dean blinked in surprise,

"Yeah, that's the guy."

"Miroslav Barnyashev," Seth replied, "Goes by _Rusev_. He's Bulgarian. Long-time Mafia underling. Probably looking to start his own empire and has fallen into trafficking because the money's good."

Returning back with three cups of steaming coffee, Roman glanced over Seth's shoulder at the page, frowning a little as he appraised the blurry mugshot and grumbling a little,

"Sounds like one hell of a guy."

"He's not much better in person," Dean put in and Roman snorted wryly,

"Now _that_ I can believe."

As he sat down, Seth promptly stood up again and crossed to drag some sheets from the printer. He pinned them up in a line on the projector screen and suddenly they were staring into the faces of their gang.

"Gentlemen, I present _The League of Nations_."

Roman sat back,

"So these are our guys, huh?"

"Minus the surgeon," Seth supplied ruefully, "But these are the face of the operation, yes."

"Which is the one that had attitude last night?" Roman turned to Dean, "Put you into the wall?"

In response Dean stretched out a lazy looking finger and Seth – standing closest – tapped the photo on the right,

"Wade Barrett," he offered in Dean's coffee-drinking silence, "The Englishman."

"Any idea what his damn problem was?"

Dean shrugged lazily,

"Come on, you've seen those ears. I mean, look at 'em. If he flapped hard enough he could get _airborne_ with those things. Somethin' like that would piss a guy off, right?"

Despite the situation, Roman grinned and threw his eyes skywards while shaking his head.

"So that's why he went at you? Because he hates his own ears?"

"Either that or I got to him somehow, not sure which."

Seth smirked,

"I'll say definitely the second one."

"Well," Dean shrugged, "You're probably right, what with you bein' the master of pissin' people off. Kinda think you and Barrett could bond about it. Swap tips on gettin' under people's skin."

"Cute Dean, real cute."

Roman chuckled broadly in response to the sniping and the sound of his laughter drew a hard stare from both. As far as his unhappy teammates were concerned, then the bickering was part of their personal warfare but from the outside it was obvious that the major heat was gone. The reason they were squabbling was because they didn't know how to _talk_ to one another but although it was difficult, Roman knew it would come.

He knew it because – when the time seemed appropriate – he was going to force it.

Come hell or high water they were _going_ to get on.

"So," he sighed, shaking off the enmity and turning back to their scattering of files, "Where are we on finding the surgeon? Found anything to help us narrow down this list of names?"

He was referring to the directory that Stephanie had given them of the city's nephrologists. Dean shook his head,

"Nope. No one from _The League_ has got connections with any of 'em, so either our guy's not a registered professional – which they said he was – or he's keepin' his head down low."

Seth slid back into his chair with a frown,

"You believe a word they say?"

"No, but it makes sense. You saw the victims, those incisions were the real deal. Whoever's doin' this shit is properly trained."

"Which means," Roman sighed, picking the sheet up, "That we're back to square one."

"Well let's think about this," Seth reached over and took the page from him, placing it down so all three of them could see, "Based on the fact that _The League_ are all foreign, how about we start with that? Discount anyone trained in this country and focus on the ones that weren't."

Dean blinked,

"What, you think they've got some _immigration_ society?"

"I don't see you offering another idea."

At Seth's point Dean sat back with a grumble and waved his hands in air.

 _It's your call._

Scanning the list quickly, Roman drank in the details, pulling a face,

"That's still eight names. We can't keep them all under surveillance with just the three of us."

"We could split up and interview them," Seth shrugged, "Well, the two of _us_ can – the drunk over here needs to keep his cover intact."

Dean snorted wryly and Roman grinned at him,

"Apple juice dude,"

His teammate turned his nose up,

" _Ugh_. When did I become so uncool?"

"That's rhetorical, right?"

"Shut up."

Seth watched them quietly, envying their playful ease and wishing that he could be an accepted part of their game. Possibly he would at some point in the future, but Dean had made it clear that point wasn't today and so instead he contented himself with simply being a part of the team and to that end, he shunted a piece of paper across the table and under Dean's nose.

"Here,"

"What the hell's this?"

"Your new home."

The scruffy copper blonde frowned at him,

"My _what_?"

"For your undercover gig, I rented you a place – just in case they try to keep tabs on you. I thought you should probably move into the neighbourhood."

Dean stared down at the particulars in horror, taking in the tall, unloved brick building, the washing hung from windows and the trash piled up outside. It was pretty far removed from his nice clean apartment and nowhere he would want to spend the night.

"You're fuckin' kiddin' me with this shit, right?"

"No," Seth blinked at back at him evenly, "I'm not."

"You seriously expect me to move _into_ this place?"

"Just until the case is done."

There was a sudden burst of energy as Dean slammed down the details, palming the table so hard the whole thing shook. No way would he move out of his apartment.

 _No way._

His apartment was the one place he still had _her_. The one place he could still feel her presence all around him. It had her comforter and the millions of damn cushions she had bought and the candles and _everything_. He couldn't give that up. Not for a second, not for a minute and not for any god damn case.

"Dean?"

He didn't realise he was almost hyper-ventilating until he felt Roman's hand reach out and grab his sleeve. Both men were staring at him wide-eyed across the table and their concern made him instantly snatch his arm away, shunting his chair back and jumping to his feet again to pace around the warehouse like a tiger in a cage.

" _Dean_ ," Roman tried again, firm but gentle and tapering off as he struggled to find something to say,

"I'm _not_ doin' it."

Seth blinked across at him and his expression changed suddenly as he clued in to exactly what had gone wrong. Dean flinched on seeing it, hating that he _got_ him but too amped up to put the feeling into words,

"Hey," Seth offered, "It's only for a little while and believe it or not, I'm trying to _protect_ you. I don't want these guys finding out who you are. We're dealing with a professional outfit, we've got to assume they'll be watching you, alright?"

"Fuck you," Dean spat back, but it wasn't so vehement because – god help him – he knew Seth was probably right. Not that it made the thought any easier. In fact, if anything, it made it much worse.

He sat back down in his chair again heavily and dropped his frantic feeling head into his hands.

"Look man," Seth continued, as if it were the clincher, "I'll go down tomorrow and install some cameras round the place – outside too – I'll make sure you're covered."

"Fuck you," Dean repeated but it was almost a grumble, like their teammate was a petulant post-tantrum throwing child.

 _Christ._

Honestly it physically _hurt_ Seth to see it – to see Dean so broken and defeated and _lost_. A flood of familial defensiveness surged through him and made him feel angry on Dean's behalf. He wanted to take whoever had upset him and beat them into a pulp on the ground. But that was the problem. There was no _whoever_. Dean wasn't physically wounded as such – he was grieving and that meant that not only was there no one to blame for it but there was also no way of making it better. Once upon a time he might have been able to – he might have been able to offer a hug, or a shoulder to cry on – but those days were gone and the fact that Dean was still resisting his friendship made it virtually impossible to help.

It was still there though – that flicker of brotherhood.

Seth was _desperate_ to make things right.

Reaching across with a sigh of understanding, Roman dropped his palm down across the back of Dean's neck, squeezing slightly and massaging the muscles there until his fingers were practically threading through the curls.

"Easy," he rumbled, quietly and soothingly, "Easy uce. We get it. It's okay."

Dean leant into the touch and squeezed his eyes shut and Seth was glad that he could still find comfort in _one_ of them at least.

Even if it wasn't him.

"It better not be infested."

"Huh?"

When Seth blinked himself back into the present, Dean was glaring up at him with his jaw firmly set. Any vestige of sentiment had vanished as he had – once again – thrown the personality switch. He never _had_ liked showing his emotions and it was oddly comforting to see that hadn't changed.

"I _said_ it had better not be infested."

Seth shrugged mildly,

"I honestly don't know. How could I? I rented the place – I didn't _build_ it. Besides, it's just a place to put your head down. Couple of hours a day man, _max_. You're supposed to be a no-hope alcoholic. You're hardly going to be there playing house."

"So what? I make a big deal of staggerin' back there every night and that's it?"

"Pretty much."

"You can handle that," Roman offered, "Right?"

His hand was still in place resting heavily on Dean's nape and as much as he resented it, the solidity kept him calm.

"Guess I fuckin' _have_ to."

That was a _yes_ – or at least as close as they were likely to get to one – and Seth nodded back at him.

"I'll be there too, on surveillance across the street, so it isn't like you'll be on your own."

Dean snorted,

"Well isn't this the gift that keeps on givin'?"

" _Hey_ ," Roman frowned as Seth's face fell, "Be nice man."

"Not gonna happen Roman."

He wasn't lying either.

The simple truth was Dean didn't _feel_ like being nice. In fact, hurting Seth made him feel perversely _good_. It was almost like picking over a scab or a deep jagged scar or a surgery wound. For _three years_ he had thrown mental jabs at Seth Rollins and suddenly he had the chance to do it for real. It didn't matter that the younger man was trying his hardest. He had lost his chance.

The old days were gone.

Although at the same time Dean couldn't deny the sudden stab of _something_ at the crushed look that flashed up over Seth's face.

 _Damn._

He didn't care.

Dean _didn't_ care about him. Except deep down he probably always would. It was the reason he fought against him so violently. No way would he be taken in just to lose Seth again. He couldn't cope with losing anybody else he loved.

Not that he loved Seth –

" _Ugh_."

He groaned loudly and dropped his head back into his hands.

"So," Roman started, seeing the struggle and moving them back a few paces instead, "How are we going to split up the suspects? You take the East Side, I'll take the West?"

"Sounds fair," Seth nodded, glancing at the paper and absently naming the suspects out loud, "Claudio Castagnoli, studied in Switzerland, works at Smackdown General,"

"West Side – he's mine."

"Savelina Fanene, born in Australia but studied in Hawaii, practice on the East Side – ,"

"Okay, she's yours."

"Alberto Del Rio – ,"

A sudden snort stopped them and they turned to find Dean offering up a smile. Roman's brows knitted together at him worriedly,

"What, you know him?"

"No."

"Then what's with the face?"

With the topic turning away from his feelings and allowing him to briefly escape his own head, Dean grinned broadly as the sands beneath him shifted and deposited him back onto much firmer ground,

"My first kiss was with a girl called Rio."

Seth blinked back at him,

"Seriously? That was her name?"

Dean shrugged,

"Her mom was a Simon Le Bon fan,"

"Wow."

At the sound of Seth's amusement, Dean folded his arms accusingly and the leather of his jacket gave the movement a tiny squeak.

"Let me guess Rollins, _your_ first kiss was with a girl called – like – _Ashley_ or – ,"

"Stacy."

Dean threw his hands up,

"Yep, what did I say?"

"What the hell's wrong with being called Stacy?" Seth fired back, feeling defensive on her behalf.

"Nothin'," Dean shrugged, "If you're into the whole – like – cookie-cutter, butter-wouldn't-melt, church-on-a-Sunday, girl-next-door type."

"We were thirteen, I was a little too young to have a _type_."

"Not good at stayin' faithful to anythin' much, right Seth?"

As the conversation looked set to go south again and both warring factions bristled visibly across the space, they were interrupted by the sound of Roman's cell phone ringing and the violent buzz of its vibration alert. Scooping it up with a sigh of frustration Roman answered without seeing who it was, his opening snap fading away in submission as the voice of his boss snipped back in terse tones.

"Roman? I need you boys down at the morgue. We've got another body. Same marks as the rest."

"Damn," he replied, rubbing his eyes wearily and drinking in questioning looks from Dean and Seth, "We'll be there right away."

She hung up immediately and in the contemplative silence, he looked up at his teammates.

Things were starting to get serious quick.

"Looks like _The League_ has struck again. They've found another one."

Dean groaned a little.

 _Great._

* * *

 **See you all next time for another thrilling installment of…The Shield Reunited (cue old 1950s suspenseful TV music).**

 **Hope you enjoyed it!**


	8. Hatred (A Duet)

**Skovko, Ha, maybe I can make that a spin-off series!**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, Yeah, I kind of put Dean through the ringer in this story. But it's all for the best (or to satisfy some perverse need I have...I'm not sure yet!)**

 **So, Seth and Dean in real (TV) life have made up. How about in this story? Time to build a bridge?**

* * *

 **Hatred (A Duet)**

The morgue was not a place Dean had ever liked visiting, but knowing what had happened to _her_ made things worse. At some point _she_ had been down there on a metal tray, lying on her own, all cold and unloved. It half-killed him to think of her body being down there and it made him fucking _shudder_ as they walked in through the doors.

 _It's okay Dean, she's not there, she's safe now._

If it was safe to be buried in a coffin beneath the ground.

Stephanie looked up as they strode in together and lifted off from the wall she'd been leaning back on. It was strange how at home she looked in the surroundings but then again, Dean wasn't especially surprised. She was _Stephanie McMahon Helmsley_ after all. Death was probably frightened of _her._

"Gentlemen. Did anyone see you come in here?"

Dean shrugged,

"Nobody who knew who we were."

"We told them we were relatives," Seth fleshed out for her, "Distant cousins."

Roman grunted,

" _Very_ distant – from Samoa."

"I see."

If the meaning didn't pass her by however, then the humour almost certainly did and Dean glanced across at Roman and grinned a little. It was good to have someone else to try and needle her. It had been getting kind of boring being a mischievous one-man-show.

Seth – for his part – seemed a little more serious, standing with his arms crossed against the tiled wall and frowning at his boss across the unforgiving space.

"Where's the victim?"

The mood turned in an instant and noticing it, Stephanie flicked her head,

"Follow me."

Together they trooped beyond the cold little chamber and into an equally cold little room. There were medical trolleys laid out in straight lines and they were empty except for the very last one. No matter how many times Dean laid eyes on a body bag – and having been in the police for as long as he had, he'd come across a fair few in his time – the sensation would never _not_ be unsettling and he felt himself inhale at the familiarly peaked sheet. There was a tray of implements lying alongside them and he glanced down at them distastefully as Stephanie peeled back the shroud.

"Same marks as before?" Roman asked gruffly, as Dean kept his eyes on the poor deceased man.

He was probably somewhere in his early to mid-thirties, with a shaved head and a slightly scraggly beard. He was muscular – not overly, but enough to look healthy – and otherwise seemed to be in pretty good shape. There were a couple of tattoos scrawled across his chest in the usual combination of crosses, skulls and roses and the guy had a stud in one of his ears.

In essence he was a regular Suplex City kind of guy.

Just like he was.

Dean shuddered a little bit.

"Just like the others," Stephanie confirmed stonily, producing a file which contained several glossy photos. Each of them showed a long red incision, expertly made but then never stitched up. The reality of the case – coupled with being _beside_ the victim – was sobering and shocking all at once. Even serial killers had _some_ sort of reasoning – a compulsion, a violent childhood – but stealing organs seemed somehow worse. People were being lured and killed for the money and the callous, unfeeling nature of the murders chilled every single one of them to the core.

"Name?" Dean asked huskily,

"Not sure yet – we're still looking. At this point we're waiting for a missing persons report. That's probably the best lead we're going to get. Especially since this gang – ,"

"The League of Nations,"

Stephanie blinked at him and in the silence Seth stepped in to explain,

"That's what we're calling them."

"Okay, _The League of Nations_ , only pick guys who are down on their luck. If this guy was homeless or didn't have employment then it might take a while for people to notice he's even gone."

Dean sighed heavily.

That was a bleak assessment and probably just another way that he was perfect for the job. After all, who would really notice if _he_ went missing? No family, no friends, no – well – no _her_. If he hadn't joined the police force then maybe it would have _been_ him, living a sad and unextraordinary life and ending up, all alone in the morgue. It made for pretty melancholy thinking and was pretty all-consuming as well. He didn't even realise that they were shifting from the body until Roman put a hand on his arm,

"Hey,"

Dean jumped and frowned a little,

"Huh?"

"We're leaving. You okay?"

God damn Roman and his near _eagle_ eyesight. Dean shook him off again and offered up a shrug, going for _casual_ but totally misjudging it and as a result coming off a little _too_ cool,

"Who me? Sure – yeah, I'm good. Better than good. Why?"

Roman sighed,

"No reason."

Stephanie and Seth had moved off ahead of them and were discussing the case when the others caught them up. As Dean tried to shake off the lingering coldness, his boss turned to him pointedly,

"You made contact with the gang?"

"Uh, yeah."

"But not the surgeon?"

"No, they said they'd be in touch. Somethin' about tests and blood samples and all that stuff. I'm guessin' I'll meet the butcher then."

Stephanie nodded briskly,

"I guess it's possible. Keep me informed."

Dean saluted,

"Aye aye boss."

"In the meantime," Seth stepped in again smoothly, as the commissioner's eyes narrowed in a warning _not now Ambrose_ look, "We were going to try and find out some more information about the nephrologists you've got on that list. We've split the foreign trained surgeons up between us and me and Roman were going to hit them up."

"You think he's foreign? The whole _League of Nations_ angle?"

Damn she was quick.

"We think it's possible," Roman offered back at her and she nodded again – a sure sign she agreed.

"I like it. Let me know what you manage to find. I'll have the investigating team take on the paper trail, have them focus in on those individuals in particular and see if they can see anything that might help narrow things down."

It seemed pretty pointless – the police had already failed on this one – but if nothing else it proved she was keen to help _and_ trusted their instincts and so Roman nodded back at her,

"Sure, that would be good."

As they had been talking, they had been moving from the basement levels, tracking through the windowless corridors towards natural light. Usually Dean didn't mind the gruesome bits – over the years it had just become part of his job – but something about the man on the table and the kidneys and the damn _League_ just put him weirdly on edge.

Much like Roman, he had a bad feeling.

But he was _Dean freaking Ambrose_ , so he couldn't admit that.

"Dean?"

"Huh?" he looked up with a start, Stephanie was staring back at him,

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

His question drew a dual frowns from his ever-perceptive teammates, although his boss simply sighed and repeated the question, slower the second time a little like he was a child,

"What are you going to do now?"

 _Oh, right._

"Nothin' much, just go and show my face in The Battleground, make a big deal of bein' pathetic and drunk. If these guys are gonna try and keep tabs on me, then I've gotta make 'em think I belong."

On reaching the deserted back doors of the hospital, Stephanie slid a pair of sunglasses on. When she pushed on the release bar there was a man waiting for her – security detail – who shepherded her back towards her car. Halfway across the parking lot, she turned back towards them, as ever needing to have the last word,

"Keep me informed," she stressed, semi-warningly, "I want to know _exactly_ what's going on."

Then she climbed into the backseat of the town car and they watched as the driver spun her out onto the road. It felt a little like a hurricane had whipped through the area and as the vehicle disappeared from sight around the corner, each man let out a sigh of relief.

"Always a pleasure," Dean quipped with a grin and Roman smiled back at him,

"She really is something isn't she?"

" _Something_?" Seth snorted, "She's a _McMahon_ , they're _all_ like that. Words can't describe them."

Together they ambled down the steps towards their own cars – well – that's to say _two thirds_ of them did. In their haste to get down to the morgue and their latest victim, Dean had jumped in with Roman for the ride. From the direction he was walking he was counting on a lift back and that dependency hit Roman with a sudden brainwave.

If he wanted Dean and Seth to mend their differences, then he would have to _force_ them into the same space. What better way to do that than with a car ride?

His plan would either make or break their team.

"Look uce," he offered, trying to sound casual, "You know I'm heading over to the West Side, right? Well that's the opposite way to The Battleground. Seth's heading East, maybe he could give you a ride?"

The look he got was two-parts murderous to one part –

No, on second thoughts the whole _thing_ was murderous and utterly dissenting. Seth on the other hand positively _bounced_.

"Fine by me, I mean, it's on the way so – ,"

He shrugged as his sentence tailed off hopefully and two pairs of eyes turned expectantly to Dean.

 _Fuck._

What the hell had he done to deserve such cruel punishment? From _Roman_ of all people? He thought they were cool. His lingering silence made his answer clear however and as he stared across blankly, Seth suddenly shook his head,

"Uh, but, if you want to – you know – go with Roman then that's – ,"

 _Oh god damn it._

"It's fine," Dean grumbled, hating the response he got as his teammates snapped their heads up to stare at him,

"It's fine?"

"Yes Roman, I said it's _fine_. I'll go with Seth, it's not like it's a big fuckin' deal."

Only that was an out-and-out lie because it _was_ a big deal and they all knew it which made it about eighteen times worse.

To prove his point – or to disprove theirs – Dean turned and crossed the asphalt towards Seth's car, waiting pointedly at the door. He was trying to ignore Roman's smirk as he did it and the way Seth positively skittered behind. He hated that the pair of them were on eggshells around him. Since when had _he_ become the difficult one?

"You two be careful," Roman offered warningly,

"You mean because we'll be trapped in the car together or you talkin' in general?"

" _Both_ uce."

As Seth unlocked the doors, Dean grumbled slightly and climbed into the passenger side whilst glaring daggers at his friend. Roman didn't deserve to call him _uce_. The Big Man knew _exactly_ what he was doing and the grin he offered through the window at his teammates only confirmed that.

 _Different directions my ass._

Dean hunkered down against the plush leather seating and folded his arms like a sullen child across his chest. It was the universal sign of _don't talk to me_ and Seth followed that advice to the letter, simply firing the truck into life and pulling them silently out of the parking lot. For a blissful few moments Dean even began to think that the entire journey might be conducted in an uncertain stillness – which, for the record, would have been _fine_ by him – but then, barely three minutes from the god damn hospital, Seth drew in a breath and broke their newly established rule.

"Look man – ,"

"Don't," Dean fired back instantly, drawing a frown,

"Don't what?"

"Waste your breath," he shrugged, "Not interested."

"But you don't know what I was going to say."

"Don't I?"

"No."

To his credit, Seth had the audacity to look _actually_ confused and the expression was so genuine and so totally fucking _clueless_ that Dean found himself replying with an instinctive and very wry sounding snort.

 _Seriously?_

"So you _weren't_ gonna apologize to tryin' to stove my head in with a chair three years ago? Apologize for lyin' and – oh yeah – breakin' up the team we built?"

The younger man faltered briefly, his mouth working up and down like a goldfish,

"I – ,"

" _Yeah_ ," Dean cut in sharply, crossing his arms in tighter, "Like I figured."

"Look Dean," Seth continued, clearly not noticing Dean's hint or his body language or the semi-murderous glare in his eyes, "I know I've said it before in letters and on the witness stand and in the hospital and everything, but this time it's different."

"How?"

"Because this time it's face to face, alright? This time you're going to see that I mean it and if you still don't believe me, then – I mean – if nothing else, I'll know I've tried."

Dean snorted again, the sound echoing in roughly off the windows,

"You call _this_ tryin'?"

"For your information, yes I do."

"Well shit Rollins – ,"

"Dean," Seth put in bluntly, cutting off the cynicism and positively flinching at the cold _surname_ treatment, _"Hey_ , I'm _sorry_ , alright? I'm really, really fucking sorry and I know that doesn't mean much and it doesn't change what happened but I'm saying it anyway and I _need_ you to believe me. I'm so fucking sorry dude, for everything, okay?"

It was a pretty impassioned and desperate missive and made all the more loaded for the anguish in his tone. It was Seth's last attempt. He had nothing left to give Dean and so if his teammate – his _brother_ – didn't accept it this time then he had literally no clue what else he could –

"The hospital, huh?"

Seth blinked at him,

"What?"

"You said you apologized in the hospital. When?"

 _Oh._

"When you were – uh – when you were – ,"

"Unconscious?"

Seth winced visibly at the starkness of it,

"Yeah."

"Wait," Dean shook his head like a Labrador, making his untidy bangs bounce back and forth. His face was screwed up and Seth couldn't quite read it but it seemed to be a combination of anger and bafflement, "You _came_ to the hospital? Why would you do that? To finish me off?"

"Come on man," Seth groaned, "No, I would never do that. I _couldn't_ – ,"

"You almost fuckin' _did_ Seth, so don't give me that shit. When it comes to you and what you're thinkin', I don't have the first god damn clue. Maybe I did once, but now? No. You put me in the _hospital_ and I'm supposed to forgive you because – _what_ – you confessed while I was fuckin' concussed? While the doctors were tryin' to figure out if takin' that chair shot had busted my skull in half or not?"

Dean had been growing progressively angry and as the sentence tailed off, it rose to a shout. There was three years' worth of rage in the statement and bottling them up had taken their toll. Honestly, it almost surprised Seth a little. He had half expected Dean to be done with him, their friendship _and_ the past. But instead there was still a swirl of emotion, which possibly meant – no, _had to_ mean – that deep down he still cared.

"Dean – ,"

"If you felt so fuckin' guilty about it, then why didn't you tell it to someone that mattered, huh? Why didn't you go and tell the boss? Confess what you were doin' – what you'd _done_?"

Dean's fierce glare deserved a truthful answer and as Seth negotiated the late afternoon traffic, he tried to best to figure out what that was. In the past he had shied away from analyzing his behaviour, but faced with it suddenly, it wasn't hard to figure out.

Why had he not confessed?

It was simple.

"Because I wanted to tell you first, I wanted to be able to explain when you woke up. I knew I wouldn't get the chance to do it otherwise and – guess what – turns out I was right. Besides, I didn't know if Stephanie would believe me – ,"

Dean blinked,

"But you thought she would believe _me_?"

"Guess I always knew she liked you more. She certainly yelled at you less anyway. Plus – even if she didn't believe you – I was there to back you up. I was always going to tell the truth."

" _Oh,_ " Dean exhaled, full of bitter mocking, "So _that's_ why you hit me over the head with a chair. You wanted to tell the truth. Sure, _that_ makes sense."

Seth grit his teeth in utter frustration,

"I already told you a million times man, I _panicked_."

"And I already told _you_ what I think of that. Bullshit."

"Look – ,"

"Nuh uh," Dean interjected firmly, " _Bullshit_ Seth, alright? I'm not buyin' what you're sellin'. Never have. Not on this. You don't do what you did to me out of _panic_. You don't hit someone in the head with a chair. Once maybe, but you did that shit _twice_. So come on _brother_ , you want me to forgive you? Tell me once and for all. _Why_?"

 _Shit._

His question was the one that Seth had been dreading. For three years that word had haunted him.

 _Why?_

It was something he had thought very long and _very_ hard about and although he had some rough ideas, there was nothing in his head that answered it outright – mostly because there had been nothing _in_ his head the night he had been busy smashing in Dean's. There was no way in hell _that_ answer was going to fly though and so Seth took a deep breath and tried to explain,

"I told you that I was all messed up back then, right? Not knowing what Hunter was going to do?"

Dean scoffed,

"When you apparently couldn't tell your best friends what was happenin'? Yeah, sounds familiar."

"Will you shut up and let me finish?"

"Maybe, or maybe I'll just hit you with a chair."

Seth groaned loudly and let his eyes shut, which wasn't a great idea considering he was driving. His teammate really was a fucking child and it was starting to grate on his nerves.

"Come on, Dean – ,"

But as it turned out, Seth wasn't the only frustrated one, because suddenly Dean was reaching for the door and his tone was as icy as it was oddly calm,

"No. You know what? We're done here."

" _Dean_ ," Seth barked, scrabbling across the console until he finally hit the button that triggered the locks, "What are you doing? We're fucking _moving_ – ,"

Dean glared back at him,

"Open the doors Seth."

"Not until you hear me out."

"I'm warnin' you Seth," Dean spat, "I swear to _god_ – ,"

The whole situation was deteriorating rapidly and Seth could feel his heart starting to pound. In three whole years it was the best chance he'd had to explain what had happened the night he'd turned his back and suddenly the moment was slipping away from him. He couldn't let that happen. He _had_ to make it work.

But what did he say?

His emotions bubbled up on him, mounting and mounting until they finally burst.

"I was _angry_."

"What?"

"I _said_ I was angry, _so fucking angry_."

"Angry at me," Dean glared back, "Right?"

"No, at _everyone_ – the whole situation – but most of all I was angry with myself. I was pissed that it all got so out of hand like that. I was angry that I had let Hunter get a hold over me, I was angry that I couldn't protect my family, I was angry that I had let you down. I was just _angry_ , alright man?"

He wasn't entirely sure what he was saying _or_ what was going to come out after that but although Dean was still glaring back at him angrily, he had at least stop trying to bust out of the car.

That had to be a good sign right?

"What the hell has that got to do with me?"

 _Maybe not._

Seth sighed,

" _Because_ I knew that you would never have let things go down like that – you would never have gotten into such an unholy fucking mess. You just have this – I don't know – knack for _surviving_ Dean. I mean, for Christ sakes, you're still doing it now. After everything you've been through, after your childhood – ," he tailed off with a wince as Dean sort of _stiffened_ , trying desperately not to say the wrong thing but at the same time needing to make him understand, "Don't you get it? I fucking _idolize_ you man. You and Roman. Both of you guys. I always have done – you're my big brothers."

There was a momentary pause as Dean drank in the adulation, before screwing his brows up,

"So then why did you – ,"

Seth already knew the rest of the sentence .

 _Why did you hurt me?_

"Honestly man?" he sighed, "I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle the _disappointment_ in your eyes and I just – I don't know – I had to make it stop somehow. I just couldn't stand seeing it."

Dean's expression clouded over again,

"So you decided to fuckin' _beat_ it out of me?"

"If that's how you want to phrase it, then yes. But when I say I wasn't thinking straight, I mean it. I literally wasn't thinking _at all_. If I had been, no way would I ever have done it _or_ left you there. I – I was messed up. You know, I actually drove to the bridge right afterwards and thought about ending it there and then," he shrugged and glanced away from his teammate in embarrassment, "I never told anyone that part before."

"So why didn't you then?" Dean asked quietly, before pulling a face, "I didn't mean it like that."

Seth nodded,

 _I know._

"I guess I just figured I had to make it up to you somehow and I knew that jumping wasn't the answer. I needed to know that you were alright. I mean, I know that's not enough. I know you don't forgive me but – ,"

Dean groaned heavily, sounding frustrated and he suddenly threw his hands up in the air,

" _Ugh_ , god damn it – I _forgive you_ , alright?"

Seth blinked,

"Hold on a minute, you _do_?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, "I mean, I even kind of _get it_ , y'know? Hunter was a fuckin' bastard. You weren't the only person he got on the ropes. But what I _can't_ fuckin' do is _forget_ what happened and I don't know if I ever will. I don't know how to _trust_ you anymore."

It was like one step forward and two steps back and in a desperate attempt to make Dean believe it, Seth pulled the car up to the side of the road. Spinning in his seat, he eyed Dean intently and tried to load his look with the sincerity he felt.

It was literally now or never.

"That's what I'm tryin' to tell you man – you _can_ trust me, I mean it, okay? I'm not going to betray you again Dean, not _ever_."

His teammate blinked away from him then sighed,

"Then maybe I don't _want_ to trust you."

"Dean – ,"

But apparently the conversation was over because the older man interrupted him again and although his tone wasn't angry or accusing, it did sound weary and essentially _done_.

"Let me out of the car Seth."

 _Shit._

It kind of seemed like he'd almost _broken_ Dean. _That_ certainly hadn't been his intention and he doubted it had been Roman's masterplan either. But then what had he expected? Dean had been through so much. Was it any fucking surprise that the re-emergence of his best friend and his turncoat brother had sapped his last reserves?

Seth wasn't even sure where the conversation had left them. Were they better now or even worse than before? Dean didn't _want_ to trust him. That was worse, right? Even so, he couldn't stop the concern as he unlocked the doors and watched Dean step out,

"You – you probably shouldn't be on your own man, not with _The League_ out there with a target on your back."

Dean paused in the doorway briefly and his face was unreadable,

"I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

For a second he thought that Dean was going to walk away from him – no smile, no nothing – but suddenly he stopped. With one hand on the doorframe, the blonde hunkered down a little and offered him across a quirky little grin.

"I'll see you back at the roach motel though, right? You're gonna be there, keepin' an eye on me?"

"You bet," Seth replied, his heart thumping rapidly.

That _was_ a good sign. It fucking _had_ to be.

Dean continued to linger for a second and then nodded at him briskly and slammed shut the door. The second he was out he pulled up his collar and stuck his hands in his pockets. In an instant he belonged. Dean Ambrose was like a chameleon and it was just one more thing that left Seth in awe. Watching him through the windshield like a damn hawk, he traced his teammate until he stepped around the corner and disappeared completely out of sight. Letting out a sigh, Seth pulled back into traffic, his head in disarray but one thing clear.

If didn't Dean couldn't trust him, then Seth would have to change that.

Then maybe the three of them could be brothers after all.

* * *

 **So this is...well...they haven't** _ **made up**_ **exactly, but it's baby steps, right? They're talking at least.**


	9. Mr Big Man

**Skovko, Good old sneaky Roman! Thought it was about time Seth got to say his piece. As for your earlier guess about the surgeon? Well...**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, Glad you're still enjoying it and, yep, he sort of forgives him. They're getting there! But, you know, Dean likes to be stubborn!**

* * *

 **Mr. Big Man**

The offices of Alberto Del Rio were located on the Upper West Side, taking up the entire floor of one of the elegant period buildings and nestled between a day spa and a successful firm of lawyers.

He could see the fringes of the park from the executive chair behind his desk and on a good day he could even see the tall arches of the bridge that rose across the Raw River and lead out of the city towards the rolling hills.

In short, Alberto Del Rio had it made.

It was certainly a far cry from the dusty streets of Mexico where he'd grown up, scratching around for money and food, spending every day struggling simply to get by.

He had always been told that America was the land of opportunity, the place where a man with ambition could get by and although there were many things his early life had been short on – stability, security and education to name a few – the one thing he had _never_ lacked was ambition.

Alberto Del Rio knew how to survive.

It was an instinct. He was like a dog. No matter how often life had knocked him down he had _always_ dragged himself back up again and not only that, but he had made himself better each and every time. It was why he was so meticulous and careful.

It was also why he was a ruthless son of a bitch. He knew he was. It didn't really bother him. He would always do what was needed to succeed and at the end of the day _that_ was why he had his name above the door of the office and other people didn't.

They just weren't him.

Leaning forward, he pressed down on the intercom and trilled into it brightly with his heavily accented twang,

"You can send in the next patient."

He didn't wait for an answer, simply removing his finger and sitting back with a sigh, rolling his desk chair closer to the window until it hit a pool of late afternoon sun. By the time the door opened, his eyes were closed and his fingers were steepled in front of his face. He was a veritable picture of relaxation and contentment –

Which is why the big man who strode into the room in front of him caught him almost utterly by surprise. He was a tall guy and muscular, with long hair scraped back and the swirls of a heavy-looking tribal tattoo peeking out from the half-sleeves of his white shirt. He looked like a cross between a commando and a businessman and was definitely _not_ the usual patient type. His voice when he spoke was cool but also confident and deep with fitting baritone notes,

"Doctor Del Rio?"

Alberto blinked cautiously,

"Yes?"

"Look man, I _really_ need your help."

There was something pleading in the bigger man's eyes – something desperate and frantic and hopeful all at once. It caught Alberto in a measure of surprise and he cocked his head to one side like a dog.

"Oh? What kind of _help_ is that my friend?"

The big man took a seat and dragged it across the carpet until he could drop down his elbows on the edge of the desk. Despite the fact that the office was a palatial one – the best one in the building, he'd made sure of that – it suddenly seemed smaller for the other man being there and the fact that he was no longer the alpha male in the room, laced him with a flicker of unease.

Who the fuck _was_ this guy?

Seeing it, Roman bit back a smile and continued to keep up his desperate front. Del Rio was the third stop on his list of potential suspects and was already looking like the most obvious crook.

There was just something about him that rose Roman's hackles – a smug, self-satisfied, cold-eyed façade. He was exactly the sort of guy that the Shield man could picture ripping the kidneys from an unconscious Dean and that image alone was enough to make him angry and it fuelled his resolve.

"My brother's sick."

Del Rio blinked back at him,

"Sick?"

"His kidneys, they're – they're shutting down on him."

"I see."

"The hospital's saying he needs a transplant and they put him on a list but – ,"

"It's taking too long?"

As Del Rio finished the sentence for him, Roman glanced up through his lashes at the man. The Mexican physician looked well-honed and pretty bulky, almost like he boxed or sparred in his spare time. His hair was starkly black with no softer highlights and it was difficult to tell if was natural or dyed. On top of that he was attempting a look of sympathy but missing the mark thanks to a new gleam in his eyes.

Roman sucked in a breath and nodded back,

"I don't know how much longer he can last."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Del Rio lied easily, "But what do you think _I_ can do about this problem? It sounds like you already have good doctors who are dealing with the situation – ,"

"But it isn't enough."

"You're looking for a second opinion?"

Del Rio eyed him hard across the desk and Roman shrugged and pretended to flounder.

"We're looking for _anything_ – we're desperate here."

"Anything meaning _what_ , exactly? I'm afraid I can't provide a miracle cure, mister – ,"

"Joe," Roman put his hand out cordially, "My name's Joe. My brother's name is Dean."

The latter part at least was true.

"Well then _Joe_ , I'm sorry about your brother, but I'm not sure how I can be of any help."

Wetting his lips and trying to look awkward, Roman moved forward until he was half-perched on the chair. Dropping his voice to a _barely there_ whisper, he glanced around to give the impression he was nervous and then took a shaky sounding breath,

"We need to find a kidney, _fast._ "

He let the sentence hang for a second, drinking in the look on Del Rio's sun kissed face.

 _Come on._

He murmured in his head in impatience.

 _Give me something to work with here._

The idea to float out a request for a kidney had actually been a brainwave of Dean's and on the face of it, his plan made almost perfect sense. While he was busy touting his renal organs, Roman and Seth were busy creating the demand. All they had to do was alert their list of suspects and then wait for the next step.

Whatever _that_ was.

The only issue with their masterplan however was the inherent danger it posed to Dean. Not that the man himself seemed bothered, but Roman – and Seth for that matter – definitely were. The whole situation was downright creepy and made worse for the fact that it was all brand new ground. Beyond Dean offering to sell his kidneys, they literally didn't know how the sale went down. The only thing they _did_ know was that the past guys who had tried it were lying in the morgue.

Roman bit back his growl.

Across the desk Del Rio sighed heavily and sat back in his chair with a creak of expensive leather. He was trying his best to look totally casual but for all his smugness, acting wasn't his thing.

"That's not how it works Joe."

"Not _legally_ it isn't."

"Meaning?"

Roman smirked a little.

Okay, the guy was good. He was playing his cards very close to his chest and making sure whatever he was saying would not be admissible within a court of law. That was alright though, it didn't _need_ to be admissible. What they were doing was entrapment after all. The Shield had never been about building cases or collecting evidence or average everyday general _police work_. The Shield's skillset was getting the bad guys caught red-handed. The need for testimony was pretty minimal after that.

"But you can _buy_ organs, right? I mean on the black market or something? I heard someone say you might have _connections_ – ,"

Del Rio stiffened visibly,

"Heard? From who?"

"A friend of a friend," Roman shrugged idly, "He heard it from some Irish guy with crazy red hair."

There was a momentary reaction on the impassive face across the desk that might have been missed by ordinary eyes. But Roman _wasn't_ an ordinary person and his criminal spidey-sense was on red alert. No other doctor he had spoken to so far had reacted at the mention of a man with red hair. In fact, for the most part, they had looked completely baffled.

Del Rio was unflinching but there _had_ been a look.

He knew Sheamus.

"I don't know who that is."

 _Oh, sure._

"Look, come on man, I mean, I know this isn't legal but I'm desperate, okay? Besides, the way I understand it these guys who _donate_ sign up for it, right? They _want_ to sell their organs, _I_ need to buy one, it's a win-win situation. They'll be saving a life."

"I'm not – ,"

"I can pay you," Roman interjected, "If you think I'm not good for the money? I am. I mean it, that's not going to be a problem. How much are we talking about here?"

To further his cause, Roman reached into a pocket and pulled a very thick roll of notes. They were all discontinued or counterfeit for the most part – a gift from Stephanie and the evidence room – but on seeing them wadded up and looking so tempting the swarthy physician stopped himself dead. If it had been possible for dollar signs to light up in his eyeballs then they would have done, complete with casino _jackpot_ sounds.

"Look," Del Rio offered, licking his lips a little, "I don't know if there's anything I can do – _but_ – I will ask some people I work with closely if we can't find a _solution_ for your brother of some sort."

 _Solution._

Nice way of phrasing murder.

Roman nodded enthusiastically,

"If you could get him – I mean – if you could _make_ him better, then I swear would do whatever it takes. I would pay whatever you needed, no questions, I mean it. I just need him to be okay."

Reaching across the desk, Del Rio smiled unnervingly and tapped the bigger man's anxiously threaded hands. At the feeling of the calloused palm over his knuckles, Roman fought down an unappreciative grunt and tried to maintain his look of deep anguish.

"Don't worry," Del Rio sneered at him toothily, "I'll do the very best I can."

Roman handed him over a business card, with _Joe's_ details and some spurious company Seth had made up. Their youngest team member had also created a correspondingly bullshit web trail so that when Del Rio went to look him up, both _Joe_ and his _company_ would appear to pull in the big bucks. That was an advantage of having Seth back again – the guy and technology were completely at one.

"That's my number man," Roman pointed, "Call me anytime. I mean it, day or night."

"I can't promise anything."

"I know, I know you can't, just – look, just do whatever you can."

As he spoke, Roman was already standing and flooding his expression with a look of desperate hope. Behind the desk, Del Rio was smiling and nodding across the top of the fake business card.

"It was nice meeting you Joe, I'll be in touch. Tell your brother it's all under control."

With one final look of complete and utter gratitude, the bigger man stepped out of the ultra swanky room. Alberto watched in silence until the door had fully closed and then sat back and let out a laugh.

 _That_ had been a turn-up for the books.

Reaching forward, he hooked up his desk phone and dialled in a number he knew off by heart.

 _Sheamus._

His expression clouded over in a heartbeat.

What the hell was the Irishman playing at? Telling people to show up at his office? Risking everything that they – _he_ – had built? The guy was clearly a total fucking idiot and that was how he started when the unwitting Celt picked up,

"You are the most stupid man alive,"

"I – uh – _what_?"

"I've just had a guy here asking to buy a kidney and he says a friend was told to come to me _by you_."

There a momentary pause before the Irishman spoke up again although his tones were high with consternation and affront.

"Whoa, hold on a minute there _Alberto_. Are you sure they were even talking about me?"

"Irish, red hair – ,"

"Look, I haven't said _shit_. Do you think I'm an eejit? Give me a little fecking credit here _boss_."

"Well _somebody's_ been talking," Del Rio spat angrily, "So when I find out who it is – ,"

"Calm down, alright? What's the big deal here? It's landed us another paying customer, right?"

If it weren't for the fact that there were patients in the waiting room, Del Rio would have probably exploded there and then.

" _What's the big deal_?" he mimicked in fury, trying and failing to mirror the Irish burr, "The _big deal_ is that no one is supposed to know I have anything to do with this. I have a business and a reputation to maintain. I've worked too hard to get where I am and I will not lose it because one of your guys likes running his mouth off to everyone in town."

Sheamus sighed,

"Alright, alright – _geez_ – I'll talk to them. I promise you it's not going to happen again."

"It had better not."

Across the line Sheamus huffed like a child and then there a momentary pause of doubt. Del Rio filled it with continuing to be angry, but the Irishman was already on to more important things.

"So this guy who came to see you, he _did_ offer to pay, right?"

Del Rio smirked a little,

"Yes."

"Great, because the good news is I already found another desperate fucker and he's _falling over_ himself to sign up to the cause. His girl threw him out, he's got no job, he lives alone – ,"

"So he's a good candidate?"

Sheamus snorted,

"Would I give you otherwise? He _seems_ strong and healthy. He's just in a rut. He needs the money to win his girl back and I've convinced him this is the best way to do that."

Del Rio nodded.

 _Another donor already?_

Maybe Sheamus wasn't an idiot after all and with the possibility of incoming thousands spiking his blood pressure, Del Rio almost growled.

"Bring him in, we'll need to test him at once. If everything looks good, I'll want to move soon. It sounds like the recipient is fading fast and I don't want the money to slip through my hands."

"You and me both boss," Sheamus grunted back at him, a grinning sort of malice lacing his tone, "We'll pick him up tonight and bring him on over."

Del Rio stiffened suddenly,

"Make sure – ,"

"He can't see where we're going? Yeah, I know. We _have_ done this before, remember?"

"Just don't fuck it up."

"Take it easy," Sheamus snapped back, "We won't. We'll be there at the normal time. You just make sure we can get in the back – just in case _you_ fuck it up."

Then the Irishman hung up on him shortly and Del Rio swore loudly and slammed down the phone. His heart was pumping at a million miles an hour and his head was spinning. It all seemed too close. The prospect of losing his business – his _licence_ – suddenly felt real and it made his throat burn.

There was a knock at the door and his secretary jumped as he shouted at her breathlessly,

"What do you want?"

"Your next patient is here to see you," she frowned uncertainly and the physician took a deep breath and tried to appear calm,

"Thank you, send her in."

As the door clicked behind her, Del Rio clenched his fists tight and tried to shake off some of the growing concern. One more job and then maybe he would get out of it – stop taking on the black market jobs. But the overheads on the building and his car and his _apartment_. Well, he'd gone too far to stop it now. Besides which a part of him loved the uncertainty and the adrenaline and the danger of the whole crazy game –

Because that's what it was to Alberto Del Rio.

The business of murder was a lucrative game.

* * *

 **So, there they are, all the bad guys have been revealed. We get to meet them all again in the next chapter, which isn't necessarily a good thing for Dean (wanders off cruelly dangling that hint)**


	10. I'm On An Island

**So, things start to get a little more serious in this one!**

 **Skovko, I'd love to say the name thing is me being all clever and creative (actually I** _ **could**_ **say that and you would never know) but this way I find it easier to remember what I've called them. Plus I like breaking whichever wall it's meant to be (the fourth?)**

* * *

 **I'm On An Island**

Dean had spent much of the day mooching around The Battleground trying his best to look – well – _drunk_. In the end it hadn't been all that difficult since he didn't really know that part of the city too well and so in the course of simply finding bars to pretend to get drunk _in_ , he had managed to look convincing without doing anything at all.

People had watched him suspiciously from street corners or turned to observe his progress from hushed groups, but for the most part he had appeared so shabby and aimless that he hadn't caused any genuine alarm.

That was it though, he was _definitely_ getting a make-over when the whole undercover kidney-transplant thing was done.

By the time a hazy dusk started to draw in, Dean considered he'd done enough. If one of the organ traffickers _had_ been tailing him – and honestly, the chances were high they had – then he was pretty convinced that his _stellar_ performance would have succeeded in knocking them right off the scent.

No way in _hell_ was Jon Moxley a policeman.

The guy was simply a wandering lush.

Turning the corner to head back to his apartment – or at least the rat infested one Seth had picked out – Dean let out a sigh and plucked at his collar, hunkering down into it as a cold wind stoked up.

Slowly, very slowly, he was starting to get familiarized with the run-down and endlessly dismal looking streets. Tall old buildings glowered down from all around him that could have been attractive if not for the all the grime. Windows were broken, battered cars sat up on blocks and everywhere he looked there was trash and wrappers and mounds of rubbish that blew like tumbleweed in around his feet.

In many ways it was identical to his old neighbourhood – the one he had skirted through when he'd been growing up – and the fact that the bleak surroundings made him _uncomfortable_ were further proof of how far he'd come.

Dean Ambrose wasn't just a kid from the gutters, he was a former street-kid-turned-cop.

He'd done good.

Part of that had been down to Seth and Roman and the brotherhood which had helped them to forge their careers. The other part of it had been down to _her_ entirely and her gift of a home and the love he'd always lacked.

 _Fuck._

Thinking about her – as ever – made his heart lurch and as he turned another corner he fought down a knot. It meant that he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings and why the van that roared up alongside him made him jump.

"What the – ,"

He knew he was in trouble before the doors even opened, working on instinct and a feeling in his gut. Not that the knowledge helped him move any faster and he was still in the process of grinding to a standstill when three figures launched out at him.

Three figures wearing marks.

 _Shit._

Instantly Dean spun and tried to dart away from them, but the element of surprise had given his assailants the advantage and before he could even move a step away from them, there were hands across his body, hauling him back.

" _Hey_ – ," he barked, the tone shot through with anger but stifled as strong fingers moved up to wrap around his throat. Other hands were busy at his waist, encircling him and pinning his arms against his sides roughly even as he tried to flail them around. The sense of helplessness was almost overwhelming, but Dean was a fighter.

He was _not_ giving up.

Throwing his skull back he collided with a forehead and managed to draw an actual _yelp_. Quickly the hand around his throat dropped away again and as he tried to swing his arms free, he took the chance to call out,

" _Hey_ ," he yelled again, still kicking and struggling, "Get the fuck _off_ me – somebody – ,"

No one came.

He was still very slowly being dragged towards the vehicle but it was obviously harder grabbing him than his assailants had thought and although that – in theory – gave him time to find assistance, no one on the streets seemed much inclined to help.

 _God damn bastards_.

Dean tore an arm free and swung it out wildly, catching someone hard in the gut. Another hand dove in and grabbed his hair fiercely, yanking it back so sharply he heard his neck click.

"Just get him the fuck in there,"

 _Fucking Wade Barrett._

Dean opened his mouth to shout out an obscenity but a meaty paw clamped over his face. He tried to pry it off again distastefully but his energy was failing him and the gang were starting to get onto the same page. The hands came at him again and held him firmly and the sidewalk began to skim beneath his feet. He was being dragged bodily back towards the vehicle and for all his fighting, he was losing ground, _fast_.

 _Fuck._

Glancing up wildly he spotted a group of locals, playing chequers in the street alongside the road. He tried to call out but they weren't even looking, they were ignoring the situation.

What the fuck was _wrong_ with them?

As the lip of the van bumped the back of Dean's legs, the bigger of the arms holding him lifted him clean up, launching him into the air like a ragdoll and then _slamming_ him, spine-first into the back. The impact drove the wind clean out of him and he lay on the dirty metal base seeing lights and stars. Within seconds there was rocking as two figures jumped in after him and the doors were swung shut as someone quickly punched the gas. They lurched from the sidewalk with an _actual_ screech of rubber but as Dean tried to sit up, he was roughly pinned down.

"Stay there fucker," Barrett growled at him, rolling him forcibly onto his stomach and yanking up his arms to pin them tight behind his back.

"What the fuck – ," Dean spat out breathlessly, trying to ignore the pulsating waves of pain. He winced as Barrett pulled his arms up a little further and then struggled like a demon as a plastic tie dropped round his wrists, "No, _hey_ – get the _fuck_ off me – ,"

A body dropped down right across his hipbones, sitting on him and essentially trapping him in place. Judging by the girth of the thighs it was the Bulgarian – in his desperation Dean had utterly forgotten his name.

Vlad? Dimitri?

It was something Russian sounding…

Hands pawed around his face and he shook his head at them, powerless to defend himself as a blindfold was dropped in place.

"What – _no_ – ,"

"Sssh, it's alright, we have to do this."

"Have to do _what_?" Dean gasped, "What's goin' on?"

He had never felt so helpless in his life and his heart was hammering so fiercely in his ribcage that he could hardly hear the lilting response. It came from a little further off in the vehicle and he turned his head towards it, seeing nothing but dark.

A blindfold?

Really?

They were murderers _and_ kinky? What a winning combination _that_ was.

"Easy Mox,"

" _Sheamus_? What the fuck man?"

"I know," he growled, "I know, alright?"

"What the fuck _is_ this? You snatched me off the _street_ – ,"

"This is the way it has to be."

"Why? Get _off_ me."

The last part of the sentence was directed at Rusev – _that_ was his name – and the fact that the giant was crushing his spinal cord beneath his fucking _granite_ seeming knees. In futile desperation, Dean kicked his legs out, hoping to catch some part of the guy at least. In the end however all he managed to accomplish was getting Barrett to snatch up another handful of his hair.

"Stop fucking _struggling_ you stupid bastard."

 _Yeah, not gonna happen._

Sheamus' sudden shout made him jump,

"Will everyone just calm the fuck down? _Jesus_. I can barely hear myself think."

"Well maybe _you'd_ like to fucking come back here and try and keep him still?" Barrett ground out. His fingers were still wound tightly through Dean's follicles and he was forcing his head back, which _really_ fucking hurt. In response, Dean grunted and sucked a sharp breath in, trying not to give him the satisfaction of letting on.

"Look," Sheamus sighed, "I know this isn't _ideal_ , but this is the way it has to be."

" _Why_?"

Dean's question came out as a gasp of discomfort and Barrett responded by releasing his hair. Dean's head thudded down and landed hard against the metal and he hissed in both pain and irritation all at once.

 _Bastard._

From somewhere up front – Dean assumed he was driving – Sheamus continued to speak calmly into back, replying as if they were off on vacation, rather than having just _kidnapped_ a man.

"You remember me saying there were people against us? People who didn't want us to succeed?"

"Uh – yeah?"

That part of it was true at least. Dean could remember pretty much _everything_ the Irishman had said _and_ done. Images of the poor guy lying in the morgue flashed through his head and he shuddered and fought them down.

 _No._

Thinking like that wasn't any help at all.

"Well if _those_ people knew who was performing the operations," Sheamus continued, with false cheer in his tone and really the situation was so damn _out there_ that Dean was starting to wonder if he wasn't dreaming it all, "Then they would shut him down – they would stop us saving people and they would come after those who helped us along the way."

"People like you," Rusev put in helpfully from where he was still half-squashing Dean's spine.

"So if you don't know who's doing it and you don't know where we're going, then you don't have to lie for us. See what I mean? We're not doing this to frighten you buddy. We're _looking out_ for you like I promised we would."

Dean almost snorted.

 _Hey, thanks very much man._

But instead he grunted and wiggled his hips,

"You – uh – you think I can maybe get up now?"

"Sure."

Almost instantly Rusev clambered off him and Dean rolled over onto his side. A big meaty paw came down across his shoulder and hauled him up until he was sitting on his ass. Since it didn't hit him or hurt him unnecessarily, he assumed that it was still the Bulgarian behemoth and not Wade Barrett and his semi-sadistic ways.

"Better?"

As Dean's back bumped up against the van sides, he nodded haltingly,

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

"So do you understand why we had to do things this way?"

He didn't but he nodded regardless.

"Yes."

"We'll be there soon, this won't take long."

Dean stomach flipped clean over then sank again. _What_ wouldn't take them long?

"They're uh – I mean, these are just _tests_ , right? What we're doin'? Takin' blood and shit like that?"

"Absolutely," Sheamus cooed back falsely, "We just need to check you're healthy and strong."

Somewhere close by him he heard Barrett chuckle and the noise made Dean's skin start to prickle with sweat. Briefly he thought back to Roman's assessment and the fact that none of them knew what came next. What if the next stage was harvesting his organs? What if they were fucking driving him to his death? How the hell was he supposed to get out of it? His hands were tied and he couldn't get his phone. He wondered if Roman and Seth were looking for him and thinking about them made him wish they were there.

Even Seth.

 _Huh._

 _That_ was surprising.

As the van lurched round a corner with another screech of wheels, Dean was slung sideways and toppled into a figure. Judging from the punch to the ribs the movement garnered, he assumed it was Barrett.

The guy was a _tool_.

In his head he was desperately trying to process information, attempting to memorize the various turns. So far he had counted two lefts and three rights but trying to gauge the distance in between them was pretty difficult bruised and fucking _blind_ as he was. In the end he guessed maybe fifteen or twenty minutes passed before the van pulled up somewhere and the engine shut off.

 _Shit._

Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Dean decided that it was probably bad. After all, it would have been difficult to kill him and strip out his kidneys when they were skidding around on the road. Much easier would be to take him to a building and murder him in relative stability.

He tensed,

"What's goin' on, man? Does this mean we're there?"

Barrett cuffed him across the back of the head and growled in his ear,

"Shut the fuck up."

Dean decided to take that as an affirmative and twisted his hands in desperation.

 _Not good._

Due to his personal – and strangely intense – dislike of him, Barrett had pulled the cuffs together stupidly tight and not only was Dean unable to wriggle his way out of them, but he was pretty sure the blood was being roundly cut off too.

As the van doors creaked open, his whole body stiffened and when hands dropped down on his shoulders, he flinched. He had been expecting the none-too-gentle touch of Barrett and so when an Irish brogue filtered down to him in place of that, he _actually_ sighed.

 _Oh thank god._

"Easy feller, it's your old pal Sheamus here, "

"Talk to me man, what's happenin' now?"

Fingers leant him forwards and then scrabbled around his back and the next thing he knew, the plastic tie was gone. His wrists almost screamed with the blissful release of it and his shoulders ached as he swung his arms back round.

"There," Sheamus offered, surprisingly brightly, "I don't think we'll be needing those anymore. They were just until I could explain the situation – make you see we're all on the same page. Whoops, not that though feller, that stays where it is for now. Remember what I told you? The less you know."

The final part of his cheery sounding sentence had been in response to Dean moving his hands up and trying to push the blindfold away. At the same time the Irishman had caught him by the jacket sleeves and held them firmly.

Dean swallowed,

"Come on, I can't go anywhere with this on. How can I see where I'm goin', y'know?"

"You'll just have to trust me," Sheamus responded without any irony, "Do you trust me pal?"

Biting down hard on his tongue, Dean bit back a derisive little bark. Did he trust him? No he fuckng didn't. How _could_ he? The man was a black market organ seller. A murderer not to mention a kidnapper too. Nothing about the Irishman even remotely screamed _trustworthy_ but then Sheamus wasn't asking the policeman – he wasn't asking Dean 'The Shield' Ambrose what he thought. Sheamus was asking poor down-and-out Jon Moxley and in line with that character, Dean offered up a shrug,

"Uh, I mean, I – I _guess_ ,"

"Good. Now come on, follow me. Go slowly now, nice and easy, I've got you man."

In that respect at least the guy was true to his word and throughout the process of climbing from the vehicle and negotiating their way into the building, Sheamus kept his hands on Dean's arms, coaxing him and instructing him through doorways and down staircases.

Because that was the direction they were headed.

Down.

Dean had literally no clue where the hell they were but the knowledge that they were descending into the bowels of some random building filled him with an unshakeable dread. What the hell good ever happened below street level? Certainly nothing that he could think.

In the first few corridors there had been bright lights humming and he had been able to make out clinical white walls, then all of a sudden, they had turned into a stairwell and his vision had gone from negligible to _no fucking chance_.

 _Great._

All the while Sheamus' hands had stayed on him, leading him through a series of elaborate twists and turns. By the time the four of them trooped through a doorway and into what sounded like a pretty spacious room, Dean's head was practically spinning in confusion, which only worsened as he was pushed down into a chair.

"There you go feller," Sheamus grunted, "Take the weight off."

"Blindfold stays on, right?"

"Got it in one."

The only thing Dean could see beyond the dark material were the tips of shoes at the bottom of his vision – two of them to be exact – with more moving around him somewhere behind his pulsating head. He had no idea where Barrett had got to, or Rusev for that matter, but he assumed they were there. The Englishman in particular would probably be keen to witness whatever the hell they would be doing to him down there.

It occurred to Dean that he was utterly helpless.

If they had wanted to kill him then the choice was all theirs yet at the same time Sheamus taking the cuffs off had helped him. He wouldn't have done if they'd wanted him dead, right?

In a corner of the room there was a rustling of plastic and then the sound of a quick and heavy tread. At once everyone else in the room seemed to tense up, as if their boss had arrived.

Maybe he had.

Seconds later a hand grabbed his chin firmly and levered his head up as if to get a better look,

"Here he is," he heard Sheamus offer, "This is Jon Moxley – he wants to help."

Dean almost snorted.

Still with the _help_ line? He was certainly method, he'd given him that.

" _Hmmm_."

The noise was accompanied by the appearance of new shoe-tips in the fringes of Dean's fully limited view. Unlike Sheamus' worn workman-style boots, the new kicks were made from swanky brown leather and polished to within an inch of their life. They certainly weren't the type of shoes worn by street lackeys and on that basis alone, Dean knew who he was.

Standing directly in front of him was the surgeon.

Maybe if nothing else, Dean could get a clue to who he was – something to take back to the others to help the case. That was _if_ the surgeon didn't slice him and harvest his organs there and then.

A tiny shudder rippled its way through him and he fought it down.

"Sheamus, man? What's goin' on?"

"Easy Mox, like I told you, we're just going to take some blood for tests."

The next thing Dean knew there were hands on his shoulders and judging from how roughly the one on the left stripped down his jacket, he guessed that Barrett was in the mix.

"Hey – ,"

At the sound of a tiny ripping noise, Dean tried to pull away from them, aware that with the jacket pooled down around his midriff, the flesh of his arms was fully exposed. Someone elbowed him roughly in the shoulder blade before starting to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.

Barrett was certainly getting a kick out of things.

The damn guy _needed_ a kick.

In the head.

New fingers started to prod at his elbow and he could tell that whoever it was – the surgeon with any luck – was trying to find a suitable vein.

"Takin' blood, right?" Dean asked warily, trying to keep the panic from his tone, "That's all this is, right?"

"Yep, that's all. There's nothing to worry about."

But Sheamus' reassurances weren't that convincing and as the needle slid into his arm, Dean hissed. Maybe they _were_ just taking blood after all, or maybe they were injecting him or knocking him out. His heart both seemed to freeze and implode on him and the breath ripped from his throat.

 _Holy fuck._

He was starkly aware that what was happening could be end game but there was precious little he could do about it all. It didn't help that the surgeon didn't speak to him – _or_ to them, or anyone at all – because it meant that the chances of getting useful information were zero and with them went Dean's chances of finding any upside.

After about a minute the needle was drawn out again and Dean couldn't help but sigh in relief.

"There," Sheamus slapped him roughly on the shoulders, like a coach warming up his reserve team on the bench, "All done, see? I told you it wouldn't take long. Didn't I say we'd look after you, huh?"

Dean nodded haltingly,

"Yeah, you did. But – hey – don't I get to see this doctor at some point? I mean, I'd kinda like to meet the guy that might be cutting me open in a few days, y'know?"

"Sorry feller, you know that can't happen. It's for your own good buddy."

 _Sure_ it fucking was.

A rustle of plastic curtains in the background told Dean that the man in question had left again and although it meant he couldn't bust the case wide open, it also meant that no surgery was going to be done. At least that was something.

They really _had_ just taken blood.

Once again Sheamus helped him to stand upright and then led Dean back the way they had come. Or at least, that's what it seemed like. If the Irishman had walked him to fucking _Nova Scotia_ then Dean wouldn't have been in the position to know. He only realised they were back at the _Mystery Machine_ when he practically tripped over it, landing clumsily on his knees.

"Fuck – ,"

"Sorry feller," Sheamus offered mildly, "Now let's get you safely back home again, alright?"

 _Safely back home_?

What the hell was he? A little old lady with heavy grocery bags? If the Irish moron had wanted him home safely then he should never have kidnapped him and fucking tied him up. Instead of express that however, Dean merely nodded and went back to the Moxley persona again,

"Yeah – uh – that sounds good."

As the van doors slammed shut and Sheamus floored the engine, a figure sat down heavily on Dean's right side, bumping up against his ribcage roughly and then winding an arm in tight around his neck.

Barrett.

"If you think you can try something because you've got those cuffs off, guess again."

"Hey, I don't have a problem with you man."

 _That_ was a lie but it seemed wise to say it anyway considering the boa constrictor type grip that the Englishman was slowly employing on his throat.

"Well I've got one with you _mate_."

"Why?"

"I don't fucking like you. There's something _off_ with you," Barrett's growl made Dean briefly stiffen.

The guy was perceptive and that was _not_ good.

"What're you talkin' about man? I'm on the level."

Barrett replied with an off-kilter laugh, clearly not buying what Dean had to sell. Leaning in closer and tightening his grip a little, he issued a growl right into Dean's ear.

"I've got my fucking eye on you _Moxley_. You try to cross us or you step out of line, I will hunt you down and make you scream, mark my words."

"Uh, sure dude – they're marked."

They drove the rest of way back in silence, although Dean wasn't entirely sure where they were heading _to_. Surely not the place the gang had first grabbed him? They couldn't be _that_ confident about the whole deal? Either way the van eventually stopped moving and once again Dean's heart rose up into his throat. Seizing him roughly up by the collar, Barrett proceeded to haul him back out, half dragging him over the lip of the vehicle and out into what Dean could only hope was streetlight.

"That stays on," the Englishman snarled at him, prodding at the blindfold and nearly stabbing him in the eye, "For five fucking minutes after we leave, you hear me?"

Dean nodded obediently,

"Whatever you say."

Another set of footsteps drew in alongside them and Barrett's hand was quickly shunted back off. There was a grumble and then the van doors slammed again behind him and Dean wondered if he'd been left alone.

"Sorry about him," Sheamus offered suddenly and the proximity of the accent made him jump.

 _Fuck._

"I uh – he doesn't seem to like me much."

"He's pretty tightly wound but that's just his thing. You've done a good deed here you know that buddy? Stepping up for someone in need like that? You're an absolute hero man and hey, sorry about the whole grabbing you off the street thing – I hope you can see now why it has to be that way?"

Again Dean nodded,

 _Just fucking go already._

"Yeah, I get it man. No big deal."

The big broad hand clapped him firmly on the shoulder and he jumped again like a frightened teenage girl.

"We'll be in touch Mox," Sheamus offered brightly, before mercifully turning and walking away again, "Shouldn't be long now – we can move as soon as we get the results back."

As the crunching of Sheamus' shoes shifted off from him, Dean stepped forward,

"Wait, when'll that be?"

The van door creaked open,

"I don't know. A couple of days? A week? I'll call you man, I'll stay in contact."

 _Great._

Dean snorted but it was muffled by slamming as Sheamus clambered into the trafficking-mobile. There was another screech of rubber – did the man have no clutch control – and then Dean heard the vehicle drive away. He waited until it had rumbled off a distance and then took a chance and snatched off the scarf, blinking owlishly into the harsh streetlight and panting like he'd run a mile.

What the fuck had happened to him? What the fuck would happen _next_?

With shaking hands he would never admit to, Dean pulled out his phone and went straight to speed dial. A familiarly gruff voice answered on the third ring and the sound of it alone made him sigh,

"You okay?"

"No I'm fuckin' not Roman."

"Why? Where are you?"

"I don't know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_ that I just got fuckin' _kidnapped_ and in a couple of days, I'm gonna be dead."

* * *

 **Dun dun duuuuunnnn! Moving into halfway mode now, so expect things to hot up!**


	11. Complicated Life

**So time for a little bit of protective teammate action in this one as the others find out what happened to Dean.**

 **Skovko, Oh yeah, I figure he can be a drama queen when he wants to be!**

 **Luin12, No idea what that means, so I'm just going to say thanks.**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, I know, I was a bit mean to him, although that's nothing compared to how mean I get later (yep, that's right, I'm drawing you in!)**

 **Andrew27King, Yep the 'at least for now' bit is very true, but then I did promise that things would start to happen the further in we got!**

 **Enjoy...**

* * *

 **Complicated Life**

"So they just grabbed you?" Seth blinked, "Right off the street? In the _middle_ of the day?"

Dean shrugged a little,

"Yeah."

" _Fuck_ man. I knew it – I _knew_ I should have followed you."

Seth spun away from him, still cursing mildly and swept a frustrated hand through his hair. The news of Dean's abduction had made his teammates apoplectic and even though he was safely there in front of them, both men were fast wearing a groove in the floor.

"You're telling me not _one_ person tried to help you?" Roman winced, his fists moving fluidly between open and closed, "No one saw anything?"

Dean snorted,

"Nah, they saw me, but – I mean – it's The Battleground, stuff like that happens every day there, y'know?"

"I don't care _where_ you were, someone should have done something, _called_ someone, _said_ something – ,"

"Roman, I'm okay."

Momentarily both men stopped their pacing and turned to look at Dean with varying shades of doubt. Their teammate looked battered, not to mention exhausted and there were faint marks around his wrists which he'd hidden with his cuffs. His jacket was ripped and whenever his arms moved he winced a little.

He was _not_ okay.

"Dean, come on," Seth sighed almost gently, "You don't have to lie to us."

"I _said_ I'm okay."

Standing slightly apart from the threesome, Stephanie leant back and folded her arms. It was interesting to see the three of them together and to note the progression of their reunion so far. They had definitely stepped up from the last time she had seen them and there was a lot less tension and busting of chops. Of course, most of the original sniping had come from Ambrose – who was far too tired at that point to offer more – but generally the _atmosphere_ seemed to have shifted and that pleased their commissioner considerably.

 _Good._

But beyond the creeping progress of their friendship, there were other factors suddenly at play and sighing a little and rising off the table-top, Stephanie crossed towards them wearing her game-face.

"Did you at least get something that might be useful? An address or a face? Anything like that?"

Dean shook his head and suddenly he looked sheepish which wasn't an expression she'd ever much seen, clearly the incident had rattled him deeper than either of them had been banking on.

Who would have thought?

"Not exactly. I mean, they made me wear a blindfold – or whatever – so I didn't see anythin' and the surgeon didn't talk. We went down some stairs, the guy came in, took some blood and left again. The only thing I got a fuckin' look at were his shoes. Brown leather by the way, kinda _douchey_ , I'm guessin' that doesn't really help?"

He broke off with a weary sort of lopsided smile, clearly trying to laugh it out. The other three merely stared back at him flatly, with Roman and Seth exchanging a look,

"A blindfold?"

"Yeah, those guys ain't rookies. They know what they're doin'."

"So what else did they do?"

"Nothin' much," Dean shrugged unconvincingly, "Barrett kinda slapped me around a lil' bit,"

Roman's face glowered with such sudden vengeance that the entire thing almost folded in half,

"He did _what_?"

"It's not a big deal, alright Roman? We already knew the guy hated me and in case you're wonderin' why, I asked him myself. Apparently he thinks there's somethin' _off_ about me."

Stephanie stiffened,

"You think you've been made?"

"No, Sheamus just says the guy's wound tightly. I kinda figure he's an asshole to everyone, y'know? Besides, if any of them _did_ know who I was then the only way they'd have dropped me off again would've been in pieces at the side of the road."

Dean's grim humour wasn't helping and Seth frowned again,

"Not funny man."

"I didn't say it was but – I mean – that's the reality of the situation here, right? We're not dealin' with a bunch of girl scouts sellin' cookies. If those guys knew who I was they'd have killed me and as it so happens, they still fuckin' might."

Roman sat down with a sigh on the couch beside him and grit his teeth a little,

"They tell you what happens now?"

"We wait for them to find someone who needs themselves a kidney. Isn't that supposed to be _your_ part in this whole deal?"

"Yes it is," Stephanie confirmed flatly, stepping in even closer again. By nature she wasn't good at emotions or touchy-feely which was why she had left the whole _concerned act_ to the team, but with the subject of the case and their next move looming up on them, she felt herself back on familiar ground, "So how did you get on talking to the doctors? Did you find anyone that might be our guy?"

Dean chipped in after her,

"Any brown leather shoes?"

Crossing back towards him from the kitchen, Seth passed across a steaming styrofoam cup of coffee and Dean took it from him with a measure of surprise. Where the hell had he produced _that_ from? In the moment it was so completely _old school_ Seth – that almost motherly cossetting of his brothers – that Dean forgot he even hated him at all and replied in a raised-brow, weary sounding mumble,

"Uh, thanks."

In response Seth dropped down a greasily wrapped burger and it suddenly became obvious that on the way to their pow-wow he'd stopped for take-out.

That was –

 _Nice?_

Great, like his head needed to be any _more_ addled than the god damn thing already was. Regardless though, he still ripped into the wrapper and began to eat like he'd been half-starved. Considering he hadn't eaten since the morning, he virtually had been and – _holy crap_ – it tasted good.

Seth watched him do it surreptitiously from the corner, smirking at the knowledge that he'd finally done good. Meanwhile Stephanie was still looking between them and as she actually began to _tap her foot_ impatiently, Seth shifted a little in his chair and heaved a sigh,

"Well, I took the guys on the East Side of the city and I got nothing. I mean, there was this one guy who seemed pretty shifty – started sweating, that whole deal – but when I hung around and waited for him after, turns out he was having an affair with his secretary."

"Was she hot?" Dean asked around a mouthful of his burger and Seth snorted back at him,

" _Oh yeah_."

"Roman," Stephanie sighed, glancing back his way and rolling her eyes in a way that screamed _men_ , "What about you? Have better luck or were you too busy eyeing up the reception desks as well?"

Despite the severity of the general situation, Roman couldn't help but grin. There was a certain sense of comfort in the commissioner's exasperation. It felt like going back in time several years. For the first time since they had got back together, it felt like the three of them were _brothers_ again and although he doubted the happy mood would last forever, he couldn't help but let it lift his soul.

"Actually, I _think_ I might be onto someone. Alberto Del Rio, works on the Upper West Side."

At once all heads spun intrigued in his direction and Dean snorted wryly,

"My first kiss, huh?"

Stephanie blinked at him sharply,

"Wait, your first kiss was with our _suspect_? _Alberto_?"

"What?" Dean screwed his face up, " _No_. It was with a girl who had the same name – _pretty_ girl for your information. _Geez_ boss, way to make a guy feel macho. You're kinda killin' my vibe over here."

"For god sakes," Stephanie shot back testily, clearly not appreciating the trip down memory lane, "Roman, tell me about our surgeon. Why do you think it's him? _Dean_ don't say a word."

The last part of the sentence had been in response to the copper blonde detective opening his mouth. It was debateable whether he had even been _going_ to say something or whether he was simply yanking on her chain. Stifling down a snort of amusement and listening as Seth failed to do the same thing, Roman cleared his throat and tried to be professional,

"I got a bad feeling the moment I walked in there. The guy was just kinda _wrong_ , you know? Besides, when I mentioned the whole black market deal he didn't seem confused or thrown off by it at all. His biggest thing was finding out who'd told me about him and he _definitely_ knew who Sheamus was. Honestly? I mean, he's _got_ to be our guy."

"Did he give you anything we could use?"

"Nah," Roman shook his head emphatically, "He was _real_ careful on that point. Just said that he would give me a second opinion – _find a solution_ – that kind of thing."

Stephanie blinked, a sure sign she was thinking,

"Did he mention money?"

"Not once, but he sure as hell lit up when _I_ did."

For a second the commissioner simply stared back at him and he could almost see the cogs whirring in her head. No one spoke. No one dared to. It would have been virtually suicidal to interrupt. But at the same time they also trusted her judgement. She hadn't risen to the top of her game simply because her father was the Mayor – it hadn't hurt, but it wasn't just that. The three them were quick and pretty adept thinkers, but Stephanie McMahon took problem solving to another plane.

"Okay," she nodded eventually, "So if nothing else then we've got a likely suspect. Now we just need to get something we can use. I'll get my guys to try and find a paper trail – excess money, offshore accounts – but for now I think the best of our options is still trying to catch the gang in the act."

Dean snorted wryly from his position on the sofa, where he had adopted a sort of exhausted slouch.

"You mean in the act of ripping out my organs?"

Stephanie glared at him,

"Do you have to be so blunt?"

"I think you know by now that I do."

"Then in that case Ambrose – _yes_ – ripping out your organs."

Roman glowered across the space at her darkly, unable to help the sudden protective stab,

"So there's no other way that we can do this?"

Dean reached over and patted his chest, the gesture weary but at the same time amused,

"I'll be fine man. _Besides_ , isn't this kinda the point of us being here? Isn't catching criminal fuckers red-handed pretty much what we've always done best?"

"It was," Seth snorted,

"It _is_ ," Stephanie replied, drawing a corresponding frown from the younger of the men, who seemed to be standing side-by-side with Roman when it came to appreciating what was at stake.

"Yeah? Well we're a little of out of practise."

Dean screwed his face up,

"Speak for yourself Rollins. Some of us stayed loyal to the job all along."

At once his tone was hot and accusatory and Seth rolled his eyes with a groan,

"Come on man, don't start up with that shit again."

Fortunately before either _one_ of them could get started, Stephanie interrupted and easily took control. She swept aside the growing hostility as easily as if it hadn't occurred and as all three men turned swiftly to look at her, she brought them without argument back to the job.

"I fail to see the problem here gentlemen. I mean, it's _your_ job to keep eyes on Ambrose, right? So as long as you do that then there's nothing to worry about. These people can hardly perform illegal surgery on him if you two are there. I assume you have his back?"

It was a deliberate and inflammatory ending and even though he knew she was needling them, Roman couldn't help but glare fiercely back,

"You _know_ we do."

"Well then, there's your answer."

"Doesn't mean we have to like it though."

"I didn't say you had to," Stephanie shrugged at him, before letting out a sigh as her shoulders slumped, "Look, I appreciate that this is difficult and what happened today was not something we had planned. But you three were – _are_ – the best in the business, so please gentlemen, just – just _get it done_."

There was a certain sense of vulnerability about her, a sort of exhausted-sounding defeat. It instantly put Dean on an instinctive high-alert mode and he nodded resolutely,

"Sure thing boss, we will."

Roman blinked across at him, startled.

 _We will?_

Since when was he back speaking for the three of them? In some respects it felt like another welcome flashback but at the same time it was laced with unspoken dangers too. Dean was agreeing to using himself as live bait for a gang that had already claimed four lives. At some point he would be forced into the lions' den without them and even though his teammates would be watching him, they wouldn't be with him. It was _not_ the same thing. As an image of the body in the morgue flashed in front of him, Roman shook his head a little and sighed,

"Dean – ,"

He only managed the single weary sounding syllable before his brother piped up again, brushing his warning to one side,

"The Upper West of the city, right?"

"Huh?"

"That's where this _Del Rio_ person works?"

Roman nodded slowly.

 _Where was this going?_

"Yeah, he's got offices that way. Why?"

"I was tryin' to memorize the way _The League_ took me," Dean shrugged airily as it happened all the time, "I thought tomorrow we could try retracin' it? See if takes us anywhere near this guy."

Roman didn't get the chance to form an answer, Stephanie was in like a lightning bolt – or a pike.

"That sounds sensible. Roman, go with him. Seth? What does that leave you to do?"

She was handing out jobs like a kindergarten teacher, delegating kids to clear up brushes and paints. It was something she had always done instinctively but over the years Seth had sort of forgotten about it and so the speed and sharpness with which she asked him, almost made him flinch,

"Uh, I guess I'd better install surveillance equipment round at Dean's – ," he winced, " _New place_."

The copper blonde rolled his eyes and dropped his head back, letting it flop against the cushions of the couch. His tone when he spoke was dripping with sarcasm and his face showed a healthy disdain for it too,

"Oh great."

It made things worse that he'd forgotten all about it and the thought of the apartment further soured his mood. Wasn't it enough that he'd been fucking _kidnapped_? They had to house him in a gulag as well?

"You'll need to start sleeping there," Stephanie replied instinctively, accurately managing to predict his actual thoughts. He'd often thought she was an escaped scientific project and telepathy confirmed it, " _The League_ need to believe you are the Moxley character, this needs to be _authentic_."

Dean almost gaped,

"Are you kiddin' me? It fuckin' _is._ They just took my _blood_ – I'm pretty sure they think I'm good."

Seth and Roman flinched at the starkness but Stephanie remained unmoving,

"Yes. But even so, we can't take any chances from now going forward."

"I'm not some fuckin' rookie you know."

As the mood moved from grumpy to all-out explosive, Stephanie turned round and swept her handbag off the table, slinging it casually over her arm. She and Dean were used to having arguments, but based on their faces Seth and Roman clearly weren't and so they continued to look both pissed and uncertain as she gazed at them brightly,

"Well on that happy note, I think it's time I left you for the evening," she turned towards the stairs with a brisk nod, "Gentlemen."

Then with a click of her heels she was gone, although a little more like the Wicked Witch than Dorothy, or a combination of both, Seth supposed. He waited until he heard the warehouse door slam and their security alert shut down before he sighed,

"It's good to know some things never change. She'd be one of them."

Dean frowned,

"She's changed plenty."

"She has?"

"Sure she has. A broken heart will do that to a person – make 'em a shell of who they were."

The comment was so suddenly bleak and unexpected that both he and Roman froze, not sure what to say. Eventually Seth licked his lips a little and ventured a comment,

"That's not what it's done to you."

"How would you know?"

At the angry retort, Roman groaned and held his hands up, feeling like a father amongst his bickering kids. It was a position that he was fast getting used to, but he didn't have to like it,

"Alright, _enough_. Come on man, we don't have time for this shit,"

Dean glared back at him,

"Maybe _you_ don't – ,"

" _None_ of us do, okay?"

Seth rolled his eyes and crossed towards his desk again, where he dropped down and made himself busy at the keys.

"Guess I'll start looking into Del Rio,"

Roman blinked,

"I thought Steph's guys were going to do that?"

"You really think they'll do as good a job as I can?"

Dean snorted disparagingly,

"Nice to know _you_ never change."

"Meaning?"

"Your ego," Dean sniped bitterly, "Still the size of a fuckin' sub-continent."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Blue eyes narrowed,

"Don't."

" _Dean_."

At Roman's harsh groan a silence swept in again, punctuated only by the Big Man's weary sigh. It was Dean's fault – he _knew_ he was being bratty and petulant – but at the same time he simply couldn't make himself care. He swung between being okay and fucking _hating_ Seth and not even _his_ head could keep tabs on that change. It didn't help that he'd been kidnapped and battered. Anyone's mood would have been in the gutter and – _god_ – he was tired.

His eyes flickered shut.

In the background he could hear Roman breathing and occasionally turning the pages of a file. Even fucking Seth's keyboard tapping sounded soothing and if he hadn't been so sleepy he knew that would have made him mad.

He didn't want to open himself up again.

He didn't want to let Seth in.

Yet when it had come down to it and he had been completely helpless, he had desperately wanted both Roman _and_ Seth. It was part of the reason his head was still spinning and why he felt so angry as well. He wondered briefly what _she_ would have made of it and then banished that thought as it made his throat swell.

He wasn't even aware that he was actually falling until he registered a blackness sweeping in behind his eyes, taking away the glow of the room around him and filling his head with nothingness.

 _So tired._

For the next two hours as Seth and Roman laboured, he slumbered away in the corner of the room and the fact that he finally seemed to be at peace again injected his teammates with a deep sense of calm. Nobody spoke but then nobody needed to – at least until midnight sounded on Seth's wristwatch alarm.

Noticing it, the younger man sighed wearily and stretched his arms out before looking across at Dean. When he spoke, it was directed at Roman and rueful sounding,

"Hey, someone's going to have to take him over to the apartment – not his – I mean The Battleground one."

Roman frowned,

"Not tonight."

"But Stephanie – ,"

"I don't give a damn about Stephanie, alright? Dean just got _kidnapped_ not to mention knocked around by them. He can sleep in that crappy place for the rest of the _month_ if has to, but not tonight. Let him sleep it off here."

Roman's reply was both passionate and protective and Seth couldn't help but respond with a smile. It was another welcome throw-back to their glory days as brothers and it stoked the fires of familiarity in him.

Okay, so maybe Dean was hot and cold on it, but _slowly_ their team was starting to re-gel. Bit by bit they were getting their groove back and finding their place as a threesome again. The fact that Dean was sleeping in front of them was just another part of that. He felt _comfortable_ with them – or else just really, really tired, although Seth still took it as a victory all the same. It was the reason he nodded his head at the decision and smiled a little,

"I completely agree _bro_."

* * *

 **So, what did we think? Dean might have forgiven Seth officially, but he's still blowing a little bit hot and cold on their friendship. In the next chapter, Roman's going to call him out on it (and a lot of other things besides) be sure to be there!**


	12. Brother

**Okay, so here we go, some more clarity on this one and a nice bit of Roman and Dean time too. Well, Seth and Dean had their own little chapter and I couldn't leave the Big Dog out, so here we are.**

 **Skovko, Yep, Roman pretty much has the patience of a saint in this story and in this chapter as well (bless his heart).**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, Aww, yay! Glad you're still enjoying this crazy ride.**

 **Rebel8954, The remaining chapters are probably the best (at least I hope they are, they're definitely the most exciting!)**

 **MyPaperHeart16, Thanks for the comments, I'm a stickler for grammar, I drive myself mad editing these things, to the point where I become borderline error-blind! I'm actually already writing another one. I wish I could do one focusing on each of them, but I'll be honest, I'm a Dean-basher, that's just my thing, so they'll all be there, but he'll get the brunt of it because...well, apparently because I need help, but I guess we all need a hobby, right?!**

 **Final chapter before it all goes crazy!**

* * *

 **Brother**

Dean woke up the next morning alone, with sunlight streaming in through the windows. Around him the warehouse lay in silence but there were certainly signs that _someone_ had been there. The first was a lingering aroma of coffee and the second was a note pinned to the screen on his desk.

 _Pick you up at eight, Roman._

When Dean glanced down at his watch it was seven forty five already and cursing he stumbled into the washroom and freshened himself up by splashing water in his eyes. On shuffling back out into the main space of their headquarters, he noticed a pile of clothes by the door. The sweat pants were unmistakeably Roman's but the t-shirt and hoodie were smaller.

Seth's.

Dean wasn't sure how he felt about them mothering him but as he slid the fresh threads on he couldn't deny it felt _nice_. For so long it felt like he'd had nothing and no one and now suddenly there those two things were again. Outwardly he railed against them – inwardly as well – but there was something familiar and comforting about them and he couldn't shake that off.

God only knew he'd tried.

At eight on the dot he shuffled from the warehouse just in time to see Roman pull up outside and on hopping up into the over-sized vehicle, he was greeted with more fast food and a welcoming smile,

"Hey, how you feeling uce?"

"I don't know," Dean grumbled back, unwrapping a breakfast sandwich, "Better I guess."

"Well, that's good."

Roman passed across a coffee and his teammate took it silently and inhaled a long sip. The caffeine hit him like a slap across the features and he could feel it flowing in hot through his veins. It made him come alive just a little, combined with bread and hot greasy egg,

"What time did you guys leave last night?"

"About one," Roman shrugged, "We decided to let you sleep it off a little. Put your seatbelt on. Which way are we heading?"

As Dean tried to simultaneously pull down the strap and juggle his precious breakfast goods, his best friend reached across the space between them and relieved him of the coffee until he was done.

"Back to The Battleground," Dean replied lightly, snagging back his java like an addict on crack, "Figure we should go from where they grabbed me – don't look like that, I told you I'm _fine_."

"Whatever you say uce," Roman offered back at him, his face denoting otherwise although he let Dean eat in peace.

Around them the buildings were growing steadily less cared-for and trash was beginning to pile up on the streets. By the time they reached the spot that Dean had been grabbed from, nearly every other shop front was broken down or boarded and their sleek looking car – with its black tinted windows – was being eyed suspiciously by people wondering who they were.

They certainly hadn't looked _half_ as fucking interested while he was being kidnapped not twelve hours before. In fact it made him remember why he hated The Battleground, not to mention the similar streets on which he'd grown up.

 _Christ._

Dean hadn't gone back to _his_ old neighbourhood in ages and as they drove deeper into the rough parts of Suplex, he promptly realised why that was.

In the middle of the city the buildings were well cared for, people were out _doing_ real world things. People washed their cars on their driveways, walked their kids to school, ran errands, went to _work_. Where he grew up people were frequently jobless and so they sat on street corners, picked fights and smoked drugs. The Battleground reminded him of how much he'd hated it – of just how much he'd always felt apart. Barely anyone from the rougher districts were successful career men and practically _none_ of them joined the police. There was a reason he hadn't been back in forever.

Honestly? He assumed he'd be publicly lynched.

"Real nice neighbourhood," Roman commented idly and Dean snorted a little,

"Be nice. I live here now."

"Right," Roman grinned at him, "Sorry. Which way?"

"Next right."

Dutifully Roman turned as instructed all the while trying to push the visions in his head back as he imagined a struggling Dean being dragged away. It wasn't a secret that he was protective of his best friend. He always had been, from the moment they'd met. Even throughout the year when he hadn't actually _been_ there, he'd still been thinking about Dean every day, worrying about him and missing his stupid face. There was no doubt that Roman had been a _crappy_ bestfriend to him which why he'd been so thrilled to get a second chance.

It was _also_ the reason that he got where Seth was coming from.

Being in Dean's doghouse was a very lonely thing.

With his breakfast finished, Dean was sitting quietly, which in itself was all kinds of wrong. Instantly, Roman knew that something was up with him and he blew out a breath,

"You gonna tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What's eating you this morning? Because something's not right and while the smart money might be on our friendly kidney dealers, I'm gonna go ahead guess it could be Seth."

Dean snorted back in response but stared forwards,

"It can't be both?"

"It can, but it's not."

"How the hell would you know?"

Roman smirked across at him,

"I'm not just a pretty face over here. I mean, I _am_ a pretty face, obviously, but not _just_ that."

"Ugh," Dean grunted and shook his head a little, "You've been hanging around Seth for too long."

"So it _is_ Seth then?"

"If I say _yes_ will you leave me alone? Left, I think."

The second statement was in relation to a junction and Roman frowned at his uncertainty,

"You _think_?"

"Hey, go easy on me here, okay? I was blindfolded, had my hands behind my back and the Russian one was _fuckin'_ sittin' on me," Dean blinked absently, "Rusev, that's his name, right?"

"Yeah but he's Bulgarian. Wait, _sitting_ on you?"

"Yep. Like a fuckin' carpet."

"Jesus – ,"

"Now take a right."

It was difficult for Roman to do much of _anything_ given the anger coursing through his veins. Dean hadn't spoken much about what had happened but that tiny glimpse was more than enough and a sudden need for vengeance flowed through Roman's system.

He was going to enjoy getting even with _The League_.

In the renewed – yet thankfully comfortable – silence, Roman's mind drifted back to his earlier line of questioning, realizing that he hadn't had an answer either way. As Dean pointed right again and Roman took it silently, he drew in a breath and made a second attempt,

"So getting back to this whole Seth thing – ,"

"Roman – ," Dean groaned,

"He's _trying_. You know he is."

"Of course I fuckin' _know_. He's drivin' me crazy."

"Then why don't you ease up and give him a chance?"

"I can't."

"Dean – ,"

His best friend growled angrily and Roman stopped dead at the sheer _frustration_ that he heard. He was used to Dean being all-out angry and off-the-wall crazy, they were par for the course, but the helpless exasperation he could hear from beside him was new and kind of _different_ as well,

"No, look, I _can't_ do it," Dean forced out, like each word was a struggle, "I'm not just sayin' that, alright? It's not like I'm _tryin'_ to be an asshole, I just – I can't let him in again. I _won't_."

"Because?"

" _Because_ I couldn't cope with losin' him. Not again. Not after I've already lost – ,"

 _Her._

The word hung unspoken between them like a spectre and Dean actually audibly choked down a gulp. Sometimes his crazy front was so damn convincing that Roman forgot how broken he really was and realizing that his brother was on the verge of a meltdown, the bigger man dropped a hand down on his knee,

"Hey."

The warmth of it grounded him and Dean sucked a sigh in, centring himself before it all went to hell.

"I can't do it Roman," he finally replied mildly, "Losin' someone else would fuckin' kill me, y'know?"

"I know, but Dean, he _isn't_ going to leave again."

"How do you know?"

"The same way you do."

Dean snorted loudly and just like that, he was back at angry,

"That's the fuckin' _point_ – I _don't._ "

"Don't you?"

"No and will you stop being cryptic? I've told you why I'm done givin' Seth chances now _drop it_ , alright? We're done. Turn left."

To shut the conversation down even further, Dean crossed his arms tightly over his chest, adopting a frown beneath his ribbed beanie that was so severe it would have easily curdled milk. Taking the hint, Roman stuck to the driving, following the directions which were huffed from then on. The mood changed again however when they slid past the hospital and although Dean didn't say or _do_ anything, Roman sensed him stiffen all the same.

"You alright babe?"

He knew he wasn't and Dean knew that _he_ knew he wasn't as well. It seemed pretty pointless trying to deny it and so in response the copper blonde just shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant.

Evidently he failed,

"Dean, come on, talk to me."

"It's just a hospital Roman."

The big head shook,

"No it's not."

Which – _damn it_ – was true. Completely and utterly. It wasn't just a hospital. How could it be? It was the hospital where _she_ had worked so faithfully, the hospital where he had met her, the hospital where she had –

 _Nope._

Dean frowned,

"What the fuck do you _want_ me to say Roman? That I miss her? _Fine_. I miss her every day. Every fuckin' second I'm breathin' and she's not with me, I feel myself die a little fuckin' more. There, is that enough for you? Are you happy? I've _said_ somethin'."

"For Christ sakes Dean, I'm trying to help – ,"

The arms folded tighter,

"Who fuckin' asked you to?"

"No one did damn it, but you're my friend and I love your cranky ass and I hate when you're anything other than okay. So regardless of whether you like it or not, I will always ask after you and I will always worry because that's what brothers – that's what _family_ – does."

There was a momentary pause as Dean drank in the statement and for a second, Roman wasn't sure which way his mood would go. He didn't regret saying it – he meant every word of it – but the last thing he needed was for Dean to hit the roof. Fortunately however, that didn't happen, as abruptly his teammate chuckled roughly at him and shook his head wearily,

"I've missed you man."

The admission was like music to Roman's ears and he grinned back,

"Right back at you uce."

It was a feature of their friendship that they had never really argued. In fact sharp spats were probably the closest they had got. But in the moment, having an actual squabble – and getting _beyond_ it – seemed more intimate than bad. It cleared the air a little, especially in Dean's case and letting out a sigh, the younger man settled back.

"Take a right up here."

Roman did as he was instructed and as the hospital complex faded into the distance, it took the mournfulness away with it too. Beside him, Dean seemed to physically relax again and his resilience couldn't help but leave the bigger man in awe.

"You know she'd be proud of you, right babe?" he offered, unable to keep it to himself anymore, "She would be _so_ god damn proud of what you're doin'."

"Posing as a guy who's tryin'a hawk his organs? Pretty sure she'd have _plenty_ to say about that."

Roman smiled slightly,

"That wasn't what I meant. But yeah – now you mention it – she _definitely_ would."

In his reply he was aiming for humour, but Dean's dour tone brought him sharply back down.

"She'd probably be fuckin' right as well."

"You worried?"

"No."

Roman rolled his eyes at him and shot a look sideways at the defensively folded arms,

"You don't have to bullshit, alright? Not with me. So if this thing is getting to you – ,"

"I'll be fine."

" _Dean_."

It wasn't a sentence – just his name – but the tone made Dean's guard drop at once. Suddenly the arms were pooled in his lap miserably and his head was hung down so the hair hid his face.

"It's just – it's just a little _close to home_ , y'know?"

Roman blinked,

"You mean the case?"

"The _victims_ man," Dean hissed tersely, before shrugging mildly, "Never mind. I don't know."

"No, go on."

Dean sighed heavily and it was obvious that expressing what he felt was proving hard. He had never really been one for sharing his deepest sentiments and there were only three people who had been given that right. _She_ had been one and Seth and Roman had been the others. Now it seemed there was only Roman left, which was why Dean finally spat out the sentence.

If he didn't it was possible he was going to go mad.

"Look, I know I'm just _playin'_ a character and it's not really me, but it fuckin' _could_ be. These guys? In another life, I could've been one of 'em and I just keep thinkin' what if that's how it's meant to be? What if I've just been cheatin' my luck so far and this time it's it – ,"

" _Hey_ – ,"

" _Ugh_ ," Dean shook his head, "This is stupid. Just forget it,"

Roman frowned,

"No way, not this time – _this time_ you're going to listen and I don't care if you're not in the mood. You ain't cheating _nothing_ , you hear me? You've earnt everything you've got. These guys, do they deserve what happened to them? No. But they'll never even be _half_ the man you are. Besides – the victims – they don't have anybody – ,"

Dean snorted wryly,

"So I do, huh?"

"Well we just got done discussing that you've got me now," Roman winced a little, "I mean, you know that, right?"

"I guess."

It was a tiny little shrug Dean offered – and grudging – but Roman took it nonetheless,

"Then there's Stephanie and don't look at me like that Dean, she _cares_ about you. I mean, maybe not in a conventional way but you know she does. You're family to her."

"Like a distant cousin from a one-night stand?"

Roman smiled a little,

 _Humour was good._

"So? That's still family," he paused, "You've got Seth – ,"

Instantly Dean's face clouded straight over and he set his jaw a little in affront,

"Don't remind me."

"At least he's there."

"Yeah? For how long."

The question was one that Roman couldn't answer and so instead of replying to it and restarting their disagreement and souring the only recently recaptured mood, he settled instead for focusing on driving and finding where _The League_ had taken Dean to,

"Where now?"

The grumpy blonde sat forward, watching the tall, neat buildings pass by. Leaving the shabbier districts of the city, they had come fully into the Upper West Side. Around them the sidewalks were crammed with wealthy people, sporting tans, manicures and toting designer bags. The businesses around them had changed also, from pawn shops and fast food joints to boutiques and galleries. Their big sleek car – which in The Battleground had looked incongruous – suddenly seemed once again out of place. Overpowered by gleaming white convertibles with German engineering and personalized licence plates.

It was just another neighbourhood he didn't belong in and he frowned in thoughtfulness,

"I think we're here."

"Yeah?" Roman replied, pulling kerbside, " _Here_?"

He seemed especially animated all of a sudden, ducking his head to stare up to their left hand side.

"I mean, I think they probably pulled off down an ally. They couldn't have dragged me out on the street here. Someone would've noticed somethin'. Why? What're you thinkin'?"

"This building here. Do you know who's got offices up on the first floor?"

Dean peered up at it,

"No, but let me guess. Mexican doctor by the name of Del Rio?"

Roman's eyes hardened,

"Got it in one babe."

Looking up again, Dean's eyes found out the typeface in the frosted glass of the windows above. It was accompanied by a large cardboard cut-out and on seeing the tanned features, his heart thumped hard. The thrill of the chase and the shock of what had happened were combining to overwhelm him.

 _That_ was the guy who'd swiped his blood.

"So it's him then?"

Roman glowered,

"Your god damn right it is – son of a bitch – and when the time comes, I'm going to put my foot up his smug ass, believe that."

Dean _did_ believe it – he would never have doubted it – and the protective streak made his heartrate start to calm. Roman wouldn't let anything happen to him and nor – for that matter, although it pained him – would Seth.

All he had to do was trust in his teammates.

Easier said than done though, right?

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed it guys. See you next week!**


	13. Missing Persons

**Here we go with a nice early update since I had some free time and got a whole load of editing done. Are you ready for all the crazy?**

 **Mandy, Aww, thanks, I'm glad you feel I'm doing Dean justice. He kind of goes through a rollercoaster in this story, but I've enjoyed trying to get inside my version of his head.**

 **Skovko, Dean always strikes me as the kind of guy that likes to try and laugh off conversations that are too serious. I'm the same to be honest!**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, I love writing Roman as the strong silent peacemaker. Since he's the only father of the group, I figure he falls into the role kinda naturally.**

 **Guest, Hi and wow, thank you so much, glad you're enjoying it. The idea sat with me for ages before I wrote it and I'm so glad I finally gave into my muse!**

 **Andrew27King, Super glad it's still living up to expectations. Hopefully these next few chapters will make the slow build have been worth it as well.**

 **Enjoy...**

* * *

 **Missing Persons**

They staked out the building for the rest of the day in the hopes of getting eyes on a member of _The League_. But in the end their watchfulness brought few results and no one turned up beside legitimate patients.

As the sun had started to dip below the buildings and allow a murky grey dusk to creep in, Roman had sighed and checked the clock wearily before uttering the phrase,

"Let's get you home."

It hadn't been a welcome sentence because – in actual fact – he didn't _mean_ home. What he _meant_ was the shitty apartment in The Battleground.

 _Jon Moxley's_ home.

It certainly wasn't Dean's.

Driving back through the dirty-looking slum streets, the undercover man could feel the oppression closing in. It was the same way he had felt back when he'd been a teenager – that hopeless gnawing sense that he would never get out. It was almost surprising how powerfully he felt it and yet he didn't even _live_ there. He was pretending he did. Evidently he was more method than he had given himself credit for, although it didn't stop him groaning as the apartment loomed up.

"Fuck."

Roman blinked, hands steady on the steering wheel,

"What? Forget something?"

"No. _Look_ at it uce."

Dean flapped a disgruntled hand towards the windshield, indicating the run-down looking building up in front. He had a point, although Roman half-forgot it since he was far too busy revelling over being called _uce_.

It had been a very long time.

"Seth checked, said he couldn't see any roaches."

"Why d'ya think that is?" Dean snorted back, "Not even _they_ wanna hang around in this place."

"It's just for a couple of nights. You'll be fine."

Dean's response was nothing but a grumble and despite himself, Roman bit back a grin. His teammate was acting like a bratty little five-year-old but the poutiness was reassuring. In short, it was inherently _Dean_.

Roman dropped him off a way back on the corner, shielding the sleek vehicle behind yet another vacant lot. It was out of the way enough to not draw attention and it allowed Dean to hop out and keep his façade up.

"Hey," Roman called as Dean slid from the leather, pausing with the passenger door still opened out, "I'll message you later, see how it's going, alright?"

He felt like a parent packing their child off to summer camp, which he knew because he'd actually done that before. His kids weren't with him anymore – and that hurt – but his fatherly instincts weren't about to leave him and so it was instinctive that they instead seemed to settle on Dean.

The man himself simply snorted back wryly and waved a hand,

"I'll be havin' a _great_ time."

"Seth's already in place in the surveillance truck, he'll be watching you tonight, okay? I'll come and switch over with him first thing tomorrow morning. Don't worry babe, we've got your back."

"Yeah," Dean grumbled beneath his hat, "I know you do."

Then he slammed the door shut heavily and cut across the abandoned lot, heading for home –

Or whatever the fuck it was.

Around him the wind was whipping up fiercely, blowing drug wrappers and beer cans like leaves across the floor. He picked his way through them trying not to look distasteful and rounded the corner back out onto the street. Sure enough, there was their surveillance van, looking naturally at home in shades of dirty white and rust. It jostled slightly and Dean knew Seth was inside it, settling himself in for what would be a long night.

Dean wandered briefly if the monitors had picked him up yet and the thought that they had – that Seth was keeping eyes on him – made him feel better.

Which made him feel worse.

No way in hell did he want to feel better about Seth fucking _Rollins_ having his back. But he couldn't control the wash of relief it gave him, or the tiny little grin as his cell began to ring.

 _Incoming Call…Bastard Cell Phone._

He hit the button and lifted it up to his ear,

"What?"

"Hey man," Seth offered, with vague hints of caution, "I've got you on the monitor. You doing okay?"

Dean bit back the urge to snort sharply.

No he was not fucking _okay_.

"Everythin' set up?" he asked instead and a little more sharply than he'd intended on sounding.

"All good to go man. I got cameras all around. On the street, the lobby, the stairwell and round the back. You're totally covered. I'm watching them all."

Dean sighed wearily.

At least that was _something_.

"Anythin' happenin'?"

"No, it's all quiet. What about you and Roman? Have any luck?"

"Kinda," Dean grumbled, keeping his voice low as a man shuffled past pushing a dented-looking cart, "Ended up on the Upper West Side, out in front of where that Del Rio guy works."

Seth blew out a breath,

"Well that seems pretty certain then. Looks like Alberto's gone to the top of our suspect list."

"Yeah."

Turning and stomping up the steps of his new building, Dean side-skipped a gleaming puddle of piss, patting about in his pockets one-handed as he juggled his cell phone and continued to talk to Seth,

"Second floor," the younger man offered, "You got the key?"

"Roman gave it to me."

That much was true. It had been handed across during the day in a folded envelope which had also contained a fake licence and photographs. The shots had been images of smiling happy children and according to Roman they were supposed to be his.

Well, not _his_ – fuck no – they were Moxley's and he'd entertained himself by giving them names. The two grinning girls were Strawberry and Nicotine and the dumpy baby boy was either Barry or Hennessey. He hadn't quite decided which one of those was better, or – frankly – _worse_ , which was totally the point.

It hadn't seemed worth mentioning the way his heart had frozen at the sight of kids which _could_ have been his. Not in some undercover mock-up either, but actually _his_.

His and _hers_.

They were certainly blonde and damn cute like she was – _had_ been – yet at the same time scruffy like him. There was something rag-tag and carefree about them and they _even_ had his dimples.

It was like seeing what might have been.

Pulling out the key, Dean growled just a little, attempting to beat those feelings back down. He had almost forgotten about Seth still on the phone with him and so he jumped as the voice came back across the line,

"Dean? You alright?"

"I'm fuckin' _super_."

Wisely, Seth chose not to reply and Dean turned the key in the door and pushed his way in, stepping into the lobby and spinning straight towards the stairs. On the inside the building wasn't much more inspiring and he flinched a little at the chaos of noise. From behind an open door a woman was shouting, scolding what sounded like an _army_ of kids. A teenager shuffled out, swearing obliquely and glared up at him as if to say _yeah, what?_

Dean let out a sigh and trudged reluctantly towards the upper floors, listening as Seth chattered away over the line. He wasn't talking about anything specific, more just talking _at him_ , like he was trying to keep him calm. Usually the sound of Seth's voice did the opposite, but Dean couldn't deny that this time it worked. The familiar tones kept him feeling almost grounded and he liked the knowledge that his teammate was so near.

"Stephanie's going to freak at the bill man, I bought all the latest technical gear. Surveillance stuff has certainly stepped up since we last did this. I ordered – like – a whole bunch of crap. There were _a lot_ of zeroes there."

In the background there was a ping like a message had come through and shortly afterwards Dean's own phone vibrated against his ear. Since he was juggling the cell, the keys and photos, he simply grunted back at Seth,

"I'm guessin' that's from Roman to both of us?"

Seth sounded distracted,

"Yeah."

"What does it say?"

By this point Dean had reached his apartment and – _holy god_ – was that a stain on the _door_? He figured it was probably either blood or bolognese sauce and tried to ignore it as he jammed the key hard in the lock. It opened with difficulty, requiring a wriggle and even a solid boot before the hinges would obey.

 _Piece of shit apartment._

Dean sighed heavily and stepped over the threshold at the exact same moment that Seth exhaled,

" _Fuck_."

"What?"

"Del Rio's been in contact with Roman. Says he'll have a solution by _tonight_."

Dean's stomach flipped over as he groped for the light switch and a sensation settled across him which raised the hairs on his neck.

Something was wrong and it wasn't just the timescale –

Something was about to go very, _very_ bad.

His fingers found the rocker and he flicked it on sharply, whereupon the bottom of his stomach fell out. Standing in front of him – and grinning like a devil – was fucking Sheamus.

They were fucking _in_ his home.

"What the hell – ," Dean gaped in amazement and he could practically _hear_ Seth frown over the line,

"Huh? What's happening? What's going on man?"

Dean ignored him,

"What the _fuck_ are doin' dude? How did you get in here?"

Seth picked up the thread,

"Is it them? _Fuck_. I've been here all morning, they must have been holed up waiting since last night. _Shit_. Alright man, hold on, okay? I'm coming. Keep them talking. I'll get you out."

It was a panicked sounding ramble but the sentiments were positive and somehow knowing that Seth was on the warpath was instantly comforting. They would bring Sheamus down. Taking his silence for bewilderment however, the Irishman merely offered back a toothy grin,

"You're hard man to track down, you know that Mox? Been waiting on you for kind of a long time."

Dean glared back at him,

"What do you want?"

"It's show time."

"What does that mean?"

"Hang up the phone."

For a second, Dean debated ignoring him – it was almost imperative to keep Seth on the line – but then the apartment door slammed shut behind him and a hand swiped the cell straight out of his hand. It sailed in an arc towards the carpet but on the way down took an unplanned glancing blow off the wall. Due to cheap Asiatic engineering, it exploded on impact into a hail of plastic bits, the battery flying out like a bullet and rendering his lifeline well and truly dead.

 _Fuck._

Turning towards the well-hidden second man, Dean almost groaned aloud at what he saw. Wade fucking Barrett was glowering back at him and for seemingly good measure, he slapped Dean across the head.

"Don't fucking test my patience tonight. I'm not in the mood for it."

Neither was Dean, although as he rubbed the back of his head gingerly and moved to reply in insolent tones, Sheamus suddenly stepped in close behind him and spoke in his ear which made Dean jump.

"You're being watched feller."

"I'm bein' _what_?"

Sheamus reached over and grabbed Dean's arm carefully although not carefully _enough_ that Dean didn't flinch. He coaxed him over to a grubby looking window and swiftly pulled back the equally grubby blinds.

Yeah, it was a _real_ nice place.

"There's a van down the road," Sheamus offered quietly, "I've been watching it all morning, it's got eyes on your digs. You in trouble? You skip bail or something? We can help if you tell us what it is."

The Irishman seemed cautious but angry in the same breath and Dean's heart turned over in horror.

 _Seth._

"I – I owe a guy some money. He's nothin' I can't handle. Just leave him to me."

It was the best excuse he could think of in the moment and for a second he even started to think it might work. Sheamus certainly didn't seem disbelieving but then fucking Wade Barrett barged in and shook his head,

"We're never gonna get out of this fucking place with him there."

Dean swallowed hesitantly,

"What are you gonna do?"

Further down the road, the van door slid open and the familiar figure of Seth Rollins hopped out. Even from the distance and through the murky window, Dean could see the purpose on his face and his stomach rolled a little in both pleasure and apprehension, which faded as a figure loomed up from Seth's right.

 _Shit._

"We've already done it," Sheamus smirked back proudly and Dean's body stiffened.

"No – ,"

His protest swiftly died.

As he stood watching in open mouthed terror the man mountain Rusev ploughed into Seth's flank. The force knocked the smaller man almost clean across the asphalt and virtually to the storm drain right over the other side. Instinctively Dean turned to head towards the doorway – the need to help his teammate innate – but Barrett reached out and grabbed him roughly by the collar, at which point Dean's characterization went to shit.

His fist flashed out and he caught the Brit squarely, stabbing his knuckles straight into the jaw. Barrett grunted and unsteadily staggered backwards, colliding with a table and several stained mismatching chairs.

Yeah, it was a _lovely_ apartment and damn he wished he had his fucking gun.

The British man recovered with surprising momentum and ploughed himself forward, wrapping his forearms around Dean. Together they stumbled back and hit the wall bodily and Dean's head snapped back and banged against the brick.

 _Hard._

Stars exploded right the way across his vision and he gasped as abruptly Sheamus cut in,

"That's enough," he bellowed at Barrett, backing him up with a two-handed shove, "Back first? Are you insane? You want to damage the merchandise? You know how much we get for those things."

Turning again as Barrett grumbled bitterly, Sheamus pulled Dean forward on unsteady feet. For a second he was almost holding him upright, but thankfully Dean recovered pretty fast. When his eyesight cleared enough to make out faces, the Irishman's frown was the first thing he saw,

"What the hell was that about Mox, huh? We're trying to save you from that guy. If we take him out, you won't owe him any money and that'll be one more thing you don't have to worry about."

"I don't – ," Dean gasped, "I don't need you to hurt him. Call him off."

He had to save Seth and the instinct to do it was so powerful and primal that it made him realize Roman was right. Seth had been trying and Dean had responded. In that tiny moment, they were brothers again.

Sheamus wrapped an arm around his neckline and pulled him in closer to rasp in his ear,

"Too late for that man and besides, we've come to pick you up for your little appointment."

"Appointment? No," Dean shook his head, "You need to stop – ,"

"Stop? But we're so close to the money. You still need that money, don't you Mox?"

Originally the plan had been to play along with them, to agree to do whatever they said. But that was before _The League_ had fucking jumped them and before Rusev had started pounding on Seth. Suddenly none of their game plan mattered.

All that mattered was getting to Seth.

"No," Dean responded, trying to pull away from him and push down the flush of nausea rising fast, "No man, I – I meant to tell you. I got a job. I don't need your money anymore."

The forearm arm locked him in place a little tighter and Barrett glared across at him from over by the door. Dean barely registered the change in expressions, instead he had his head tilted frantically towards the window, trying to figure out what was going on. Rusev was big – yep, the guy was a freakin' _grizzly_ – but Seth was scrappy and didn't give up. There was always a chance that the smaller man had bounced back but without physically _seeing_ it, Dean couldn't be sure.

"I knew it," Barrett snorted, grabbing his attention and it made Dean's hackles rise up at once, "Didn't I tell you this guy was a pussy? He didn't have it in him from the start."

Once again Dean snarled and surged in towards him, but he ground to a halt as a sharp pain hit his neck. It was intense but tiny, like he'd been bitten by an insect and his hand flew up to the injury at once. His fingers brushed something thin and metallic, although as he frowned it suddenly withdrew. The realization of what it was hit him in much the same way as a kick to the guts and his stomach turned over and the blood ran cold inside him as Sheamus chuckled.

A needle.

 _Fuck._

Whipping around he growled at the Irishman, trying to banish the alarm from his tone,

"What the fuck did you just do to me?"

The redhead unrepentantly held the syringe up, grinning as Dean's wild blue eyes focused in on it and the breathing hitched in unmistakeable fright.

"Sorry Mox," Sheamus shrugged idly, "But backing out isn't an option for you now. We've come too far, besides, don't you want to help people?"

 _Again_ with that line?

Dean snorted,

"Help you?"

It was probably a whole step further than he should have pushed them, but suddenly his brain didn't quite seem to work. It was accompanied as well by an irritating buzzing and the sensation of his consciousness retreating to the back. As he went to move forward, his knees abruptly crumpled and he clattered to the floor, knocking over a chair,

"Whoa," Sheamus grinned, moving forward to catch him but Dean ripped away and fell back onto his ass, "Starting to feel it now, aren't you Moxley? Don't worry, it's anaesthetic. You're going to be fine. We're going to do great things together. Just go to sleep. It'll all be over soon."

The panic inside Dean was mingling with sheer helplessness.

He needed to stay awake.

He needed to help Seth.

But with every last second, his awareness was failing and even as he fought it, he could feel himself fold back. He crashed up against Barrett's legs in a dead slump and could just about feel rough fingers grab his arms. He moaned a little and let out a grumble,

"Seth."

Barrett seemed to stiffen in alarm,

"Who the fuck's Seth?"

Sheamus snorted,

"How do I know? His old man? His kid? Could be his boyfriend for all I care at this point. Let's just get him the fuck out of here before someone comes looking for him."

"Looking for _him_?"

The question drew a chuckle from both men and even as he fell into darkness Dean frowned.

 _Fuck you guys._

"Hey, what about Rusev?"

"Let him make his own way back. He'll be fine."

"What if he isn't?"

"Come on, you saw the other guy. Skinny fucking thing. He'll stomp him into the ground."

It was the last thing Dean heard as the darkness took hold of him and in response the ball of nausea rose. After years of blaming him for everything that had happened and for failing them totally, _he_ had failed Seth. He couldn't get to his teammate – he simply couldn't save him.

He didn't even know if Seth was alive or dead.

His addled mind briefly swung towards Roman and how the bigger man would feel and react. It made Dean want him with a pang of emotion.

He wanted them _both_.

 _I'm so sorry Seth._

* * *

 **Uh oh! Big cliffhanger. Sorry not sorry. As ever, please let me know what you think.**


	14. Where Have All The Good Times Gone

**So, who's ready for a bit more action? Show of hands? Okay, here you go!**

 **Skovko, You know, sometimes we are so much on the same wavelength it's kind of scary (you've predicted things again!) Either that or I'm way too obvious!**

 **Raze Olympus, Can't let Dean have all the fun and be the only one in trouble can I? Need to share the disaster around a bit!**

 **Ninjoy, I'm glad you liked the heart to heart chapter and hate The League as much as you should! BTW, your powerful punch sounds scary! But I'm also sorry for stressing you out and causing you a sleepless night over the last chapter (although not** _ **too**_ **sorry because I kinda like causing lots of feels!) Hope this one doesn't give you too much sleep deprivation!**

 **Rebel8954, Then I won't make you wait a minute longer, here's the next chapter. Thanks for the review!**

 **Mandy, Don't worry, I'm just going to rough them up a little bit and then put them back together. That's okay, right?! I think Seth is a caring guy too but only when he's not in heel mode! Mostly I just love the three of them together and since we can't have that on TV, I thought I'd do it here!**

 **Back into the storm then everyone...**

* * *

 **Where Have All The Good Times Gone**

Since the moment his skull had bounced base first off the storm grate, Seth had been decidedly on the back foot. It didn't help that his _very keen_ assailant was built like a monolith and was _laughing_ as well and for almost two minutes – although it felt like years longer – he could do little but try to protect himself from the blows.

Frantically his mind scanned over what the hell was happening and what and _when_ it had all gone wrong. As his attacker changed fists – evidently his right was hurting him and wasn't _that_ a shame – Seth glanced up into the face.

Miroslav Barnyashev – Rusev – stared back at him and Seth's heart rate quickened.

They had come for Dean.

The knowledge fuelled him with a sudden burst of panic but also a burst of determination as well. During his two year sentence in prison, Seth had been involved in several fights. Not that he'd been a willing participant but he'd held his own through a need to survive. He wasn't exactly a natural scrapper but he was feisty and had never known when to say _no_. Those two things had served him pretty faithfully and nor were they about to let him down now.

As Rusev shifted to get better positioned, Seth kicked his legs out and caught the man's shin. A Bulgarian curse word filtered back down to him and grinning, Seth repeated the action again.

 _Have some more fucker._

Another pained cry rang out as the Bulgarian mountain stumbled backwards, his eyes blazing furiously as he plotted Seth's demise. Fortunately however the smaller man was quicker and he stumbled to his feet, trying to shake off the daze he felt.

Rusev recovered quickly and charged towards him bull-like, but at the very last second, Seth stepped to the side – as in _actually stepped to the side_ , like a cartoon – and shunted his attacker as the big man sailed by. Rusev caught his foot on the sidewalk and tumbled forwards like a landslide of lard. The second he was down, Seth was on top of him, pummelling him mercilessly.

But Rusev was strong.

With Seth still on top of him – like a spider monkey – the Bulgarian obelisk climbed back to his feet, whipping Seth up and over his shoulder and depositing him hard onto the concrete below.

 _Crap_.

The air exploded out of Seth's lungs almost like they had been physically burst and he lay for a second, both gasping and coughing as the pain seemed to erupt from every last pore. Rusev grinned down at him – which wasn't reassuring – and Seth could sense his panic grow again.

He couldn't go out like this, he had to get to Ambrose.

His one abiding thought was that he _had_ to save Dean.

As the meaty hands shot out towards him, Seth tensed his body in preparation for the blow. Surprisingly however, the fist never collided and instead the space around him was suddenly filled with noise. It was a long, drawn out exhale of furious emotion, kind of like a battle-cry and a growl all at once. The next thing he knew fucking _Roman_ was there with him and battering Rusev with strike after strike.

 _Huh?_

Rolling back over onto his front – and _jesus_ he was going to need some ice – Seth watched the latest turn in amazement, wondering where the hell his brother had come from. Roman was fighting like a man possessed and the protectiveness in his emotions made Seth feel warm.

Or maybe that was internal bleeding.

In his bewildered state it was hard to be sure.

As Roman swung another punch, Rusev countered with a meaty fist to the gut and Roman let out an audible _oof_ and stumbled backwards.

In response, Seth hauled himself back up.

He re-entered the fray with an actual _bellow_ as the Bulgarian was advancing on Roman's breathless form, leading his attack with a head-long shoulder charge which dove into the stomach and threw the larger guy off. Once again however, Rusev's recovery was impressive and in a heartbeat the bulky goon's attentions were squarely back on him. He took a step towards Seth like Godzilla but before he could do anything, Roman was back up. Swooping in the Samoan powerhouse pinned the giant's arms behind his back, the energy it took to hold the big man steady instantly screwing up his whole face.

" _Seth_ – ," he barked, but no other words were needed and the smaller man responded at once, reeling his fist back and letting off a sucker-punch which collided so hard into the middle of the cheekbone that Rusev's entire _head_ snapped round. The eyes rolled back and it was clear he was unconscious.

Seth smiled proudly,

"Fucking _knock out_ man."

Roman dropped the Bulgarian to the ground unceremoniously, pulling out a pair of cuffs and together they manoeuvred the big guy towards a street light and snapped the metal restraints in place. The second they clicked in, Roman was on his feet again and pulling his gun free,

"Have you seen Dean?"

"No," Seth shook his head, "They were in the _fucking_ apartment man. They must have been waiting for him all along. I was trying to get up there when that asshole jumped me. I never thought they would be _in_ the building. _Fuck_ – ,"

Roman cut him off again sharply,

"You think they're still up there?"

"Honestly man? I don't know. I was kinda busy getting my head broken open,"

"Come on, we need to get to Dean."

They set off at a run down the street towards the building, with Seth pulling out his revolver as he went. His head was a jumble of conflicting emotions but more than anything he blamed himself. _He_ was the one who had been watching the apartment. _He_ was the one who had said it was secure. He had put up cameras and video surveillance but never fucking _once_ had he actually checked _inside_. It hadn't occurred to him _The League_ would be in there – no way would they have holed themselves up day and night.

Only that was exactly what they fucking haddone.

No way were they going to let their new cash cow slip through the net.

The thought of Dean and what they planned to do with him turned Seth's stomach up on its end and the breath ripped out of him like he was climbing at high altitude.

 _Be okay Dean, please be there._

He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if anything happened to his brother again.

They reached the top of the urine-soaked stoop at the same time that a middle aged woman was coming out, bursting through the doorway and sweeping her backwards as they charged inside and launched for the stairs.

" _Hey_ – ," she yelled, following up with some expletives that positively turned the air around them blue. The two men put their heads down and ignored her.

Neither of them had the wherewithal to care.

"Second floor," Seth panted desperately, "Apartment twenty seven."

Roman spun off into a hall, stopping at the sight of a long and stained corridor, flanked on both sides by identical looking doors. There was one at the end which was hanging wide open and he surged straight towards it before Seth could say a word, working on some sort of unspoken telepathy and a bloodhound type instinct for tracking down Dean.

"This it?"

Seth nodded, keeping step alongside him,

"Yeah, that's it."

Both men had their guns drawn and they slowed down a little as they reached the threshold, taking up quiet positions on either side. Brown eyes met brown eyes and Roman nodded slightly. Seth's stomach tightened in anticipation.

 _Here we go._

Booting the half-open door off its hinges, both men raised their firearms and barrelled inside. Neither one of them knew what they were expecting but absolutely _nothing_ didn't seem right. At the very least Seth had been hoping for Sheamus, or the one who liked to knock Dean around – Barrett _that_ was the guy. Instead the apartment lay eerily empty, except for a chair upended on the floor. As Seth stepped towards it, his feet crunched into something and both men looked down.

 _Shit._

It was Dean's broken phone.

Glancing up at Roman in unspoken horror, both men moved into the apartment and looked around. They checked every door, every room, every hiding place but the truth was unavoidable.

Dean was gone.

" _Fuck_."

Crossing to the window to look down into the street, Roman paused to pick up something up. It was glinting on the linoleum and in the dank oppressive half-light, he couldn't initially work out what it was. As his fingers closed around it the answer hit him like a thunderbolt and he turned around slowly and held it outwards at Seth,

"Look."

"Holy fuck."

Roman was clutching a long empty needle and on seeing it the whole thing seemed instantly worse. _The League_ hadn't simply kidnapped Dean out from under them, they had fucking _sedated_ him and dragged him off. God only knew what they were already doing to him and how they were doing it and fucking _where_.

It was awful –

A horrible powerful sensation that made Seth feel the bottom had dropped clean from his world. He hadn't felt so helpless since he'd been sitting in the hospital, three years earlier, willing Dean to wake up. It was funny how the scruffier of his two elder brothers had a habit of forcing him to look at himself and the more he thought about it the more his resolve built until he found himself stalking straight back towards the door.

When he spoke, it was at a million miles an hour,

"Come on, we're only – what – _five_ minutes behind them? We'll get back to the truck, get a description of the vehicle and get Steph to put the whole fucking _force_ on alert. They want to take Dean from under our noses? Then we're going to rain down fucking _fire_ on those scum."

Roman followed in silence behind him, but the fierce looking glower succinctly captioned his thoughts. Like Seth, the big man was a whir of emotions the most predominant of which was raw concern about Dean.

It hurt like an ache, or a colossal fucking migraine and he simply couldn't shake it.

He needed Dean back.

The whole thing was so completely unfair on him – on all them – they were _just_ getting back on track. Then suddenly in had swooped some red-haired Irish moron and ripped him away from them.

They were going to pay with blood.

As they clattered down the stairs and pushed _back_ past the woman – who had spent their brief absence seeking out more cuss words – Seth started tapping on his cell phone like a demon, pushing through the entry doors and growling down the line,

"Come on, _come on_ – ,"

On the other end Roman heard a very faint crackle and then a sharp voice responded,

"Rollins? What's wrong?"

"You need to send men to our location in The Battleground, we've got one of _The League of Nations_ handcuffed to a lamp. The rest of the gang took Dean, we're going to get him, but we need you to put out an APB on their van."

There was a pause as their boss tried to digest the information, but at least she got the main feature of it right.

"They've got Ambrose?"

"Swiped him out from under us. They were _inside_ the apartment."

"So what you're telling me is that these guys were ahead of you this whole time?"

 _Nice Steph, rub it in._

"Yeah."

"And now they've got my best guy, is that right?"

Seth grit his teeth but maintained his composure as he and Roman stalked aggressively across the street. Rusev was still out of it and pinioned to the lamppost but the sight of the giant was beginning to draw groups. Three children playing jump rope were watching him closely and one of the little girls crept over and kicked his heel. As the Bulgarian giant groaned in his slumber and shifted, the little girl squealed and charged back off. If Seth hadn't been so pent up anxious, he might've even smiled.

As it was, his mind was on several other things.

Roman got to the surveillance truck three steps ahead of him and flung the doors open before half- _vaulting_ in. Seth jumped up and squeezed in beside him, taking a seat and handing over his cell. He needed both hands to scan through the camera feeds and he did _not_ need Stephanie playing the blame game in his ear.

Besides, he _already_ blamed himself.

Hearing it from the boss was hardly going to help.

"Have you got a description of the vehicle?"

There she was again.

Roman growled slightly,

"Seth's working on it now."

That much was true, Seth's fingers were like _lightning_ , chasing across the keys like he was playing a concert piece. On the multitude of screens that filled up the truck bed, images were moving as Seth wound them through, keen eyes looking for familiar features and something _any-fucking-thing_ that would help.

 _Come on._

On one of the videos, Dean was entering the building and the sight of his best friend made Roman's insides flip round. He could only imagine what _The League_ were doing to him. Maybe it was better that the bastards had knocked him out.

"Roman?"

"Huh?" Stephanie was calling him, her tone sounding doubly tense across the line, "Anything else you can tell me about what happened?"

"They drugged him."

"What with?"

Roman growled,

"I don't know."

There was a momentary silence as Stephanie processed that and Roman briefly wondered how their fractious boss felt. It was not a great secret that the Commissioner liked Ambrose. He was kind of like the annoying younger brother she'd never had. Something about them was simply too similar and she liked that the detective gave as good as he got. Even from their earliest days in The Shield, Dean had never been afraid of their boss and although she pretended that it frustrated her immensely, Stephanie had never hidden how much she liked that.

She may not have been as close to him as they were, but Stephanie McMahon loved Dean like they did.

" _Fuck_ , I knew it," Seth abruptly bellowed, making Roman jump as he stabbed at the screen, " _There_!"

He was indicating a shot of the alley, lying around the back of the block and a rickety van parked up and unmoving, which had sat looking innocuous in shot after shot. It had been there from the moment Seth's cameras had started filming and it was easy to see why it hadn't drawn alarm. Suddenly however, as Roman stood watching, a mohawk-sporting figure staggered in from the bottom right. It was obvious from the feed that the figure was Sheamus but what made Roman's fists clench was what followed next.

The Irishman was part-supporting, part- _dragging_ something with him, that was limp and unresponsive with its head hanging down. Roman would have known the messy mop anywhere and he actually _exhaled_ at the sight of Dean.

"What's happening?" Stephanie snipped across the phone line, but Roman ignored her, eyes _glued_ to the screen.

Dean's long legs were scuffing the ground uselessly and if weren't for Sheamus he would most likely have been prone. His other side was being supported by Wade Barrett and on seeing the scowling features, Roman couldn't help but growl.

No way would Dean want that bastard's hands on him, which meant that Roman didn't as well.

Back on the screen, Dean was hauled across the alleyway as Sheamus scurried ahead to open up the van. Both the Irishman and Englishman were casting around anxiously but the jitters didn't stop them from continuing to drag Dean. Barrett hauled him up to the lip of the vehicle and then unceremoniously rolled their captive in, pushing and prodding the body inside before jumping up after him and slamming shut the doors.

The last shot of Dean his teammates got was of his limp form sprawled across the van's dirty floor. He was silent and helpless and just so damn _still_ that it was almost like watching a corpse.

Roman shuddered.

They fucking _needed_ to bring him back home.

Without any warning Seth snatched back his cell phone and gabbled the details to Steph across the line,

"Okay, white van, Ford, I'll get you the licence plate. You need to get this out to every patrol car in town, every traffic camera, every off-duty officer - ,"

"Rollins, don't tell me how to do my job."

As the pair continued to bicker through the tension, Roman lost his patience, _fast._ Clambering across the seats he settled down behind the wheel and promptly fired the engine into life. It was all the hint Seth needed to cut the conversation short and after offering up the licence plate he cut their boss off. Joining Roman in the front via the console, he dropped into place and gave a little wince,

"Gonna pay for that, pretty sure I hung up on her."

"Doesn't matter," Roman grumbled, "We've got more important things to do."

In the background there was the unmistaken wail of sirens as a cruiser headed their way to uncuff Rusev and drag his ass straight to the nearest unclaimed cell. Personally Roman would have punished him with water-boarding, but peeing without the luxury of privacy would have to do.

"Where're we headed?" Seth asked vaguely, as Roman punched the gas and tore their truck from the curb, "Del Rio's place, Upper West Side, right?"

"I figure that's our best bet and we got nothing else to go on. Besides, it's where they took Dean when they stole his damn blood, so who knows? Maybe it's where they do the whole thing."

"In the guy's _offices_?" Seth frowned mildly, "I don't know man, isn't that a little close to home?"

"Got any other suggestions?"

"Not exactly."

Roman's brows narrowed,

"Then that's where we're gonna go."

The van fell silent for a long awkward moment as the bigger man practically _slung_ them through the streets. At one point an old man pushing a shopping cart virtually had to dive out of their way. Seth said nothing, figuring it safer but eventually he sighed,

"Hey, we're going to get him back."

Roman's eyes drifted across to him darkly and the look made Seth inhale a sharp breath, but eventually the brown eyes seemed to slightly soften and the bigger man nodded,

"Damn straight we are."

"Just like the old days, huh?" Seth chanced cautiously and Roman snorted wryly,

"Really? You think so?"

"Sure, you _don't_? Ambrose getting himself into trouble, you and me riding in to save the day. You've seriously forgotten the god damn _Wyatt_ case? That crocodile farm in the middle of _nowhere_?"

A smile ghosted fleetingly across Roman's face and he turned towards his teammate and fixed him a look. In an instant they were on exactly the same page again and it felt pretty good.

In fact it felt _right_.

"Remember what I said to you before we went in there?"

Seth nodded back at him,

"You fucking know I do."

"Regardless, I'm gonna say it a second time," Roman paused, "Let's go get our boy."

* * *

 **Yep, Roman and Seth riding off to the rescue, but are they going to get there in time?**


	15. Situation Vacant

**Okay, so I'm kind of mean to Dean in this one. Don't judge me okay? It had to be done.**

 **Skovko, You're on, I LOVE Denmark! Plus, I think your mind might be as warped as mine. Maybe we'll see about that old Wyatt case. Kind of set myself up for it when I chose to write the words 'crocodile farm' I guess!**

 **Mandy, You know what, I usually shy away from character development (or at least I think I do) but it just seemed to come about naturally in this one, so I'm really glad that comes across. All of our boys have some growing to do in this one (some more than others though!)**

 **Ninjoy, I apologise (but not really) for messing with your brain. I don't think it's going to get much better after this chapter either! Whoops!**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, Seth and Roman are hunting them down, but there's a bit more** _ **poor Dean**_ **to get through first!**

 **Once again, all chapter titles are songs by The Kinks and have also worked out pretty well I think.**

* * *

 **Situation Vacant**

Dean's re-entry into the world of the living was to a sudden bark of alarm and a curse,

" _Shit_ he's waking up."

The voice that had spoken was gruff and accented with a sloppy sort of twang that Dean couldn't quite place. It sounded angry though – _that_ much he registered – although for the most part, he felt like he was swimming through soup.

Every last part of him felt – well – _heavy_ , from his eyelids to his braincells and his shoulders besides. Below that he was vaguely aware of a weightiness but he simply couldn't _feel_ anything else. His head was slumped forward with his chin down on his collarbone and he was slowly aware of a deep ache across his neck.

Trying to shift slightly, he let out a grumble that in one note spoke confusion and discomfort all at once but his limbs refused to move for him.

No, wait –

 _They couldn't_.

Each arm was being held.

As the cloudy film across his eyes faded, it was replaced by a gloomy and semi-lit world and as he gradually drew accustomed to the darkness, Dean slowly realized he was moving as well. A dank little subterranean hallway flashed past him, clad in plain brickwork and piled high with junk. A couple of spotlights flickered unconvincingly, but they were so far apart they didn't offer much light. The whole place smelt stale and Dean's stomach rolled unhappily as he once again battled to bring round his arms,

"How the fucking hell can he be awake _already_?"

"He's a big guy, maybe I didn't give him enough."

"You gave him the whole fucking syringe."

"I damn well _know_ that Barrett, but it obviously wasn't enough. We'll let Del Rio give him more, we're almost there anyway. Just hold him, alright?"

The voices came filtering down to Dean like a dream and he desperately tried to remember who they were. He knew he should have – he knew he _did_ – but despite his best efforts, his brain remained black. He couldn't remember who the hell they were, or what the hell they wanted or what was going on. All he knew was that the two men were dragging him, which he realized as sensation filtered back down to his toes.

He couldn't lift his legs up – they were still too heavy – but he was aware of his boot tips scraping along the floor.

His head pounded wildly and he could hear his heartbeat it, in fact, he could feel it straining against his chest. It was screaming _danger_ and a million other warnings but the alarm bells were pointless when nothing else worked.

In a pathetic attempt at speaking, Dean mumbled again and in response earned a sharp and vicious squeeze around the arm,

"Shut the fuck up."

Dean frowned mildly – not about to listen – and wet his lips to try again,

"W'as go'n on?"

"I _said_ shut _up_."

This time it was accompanied by a swipe around the cranium and in a sudden movie-montage style burst of coherence, Dean remembered exactly who it was.

Englishman, no manners, no patience, real angry –

 _Shit._

Wade Barrett.

Dean tried to pull back, using what little energy he could muster and the jolt of adrenaline that had abruptly bubbled up. Placing his foot flat – only one would respond to him – he dropped back his weight and pulled against their hold. Briefly their three-man trajectory faltered as both Barrett and the other guy stumbled in and cursed,

"Fuck – ,"

" _Whoa_ , I told you he's a strong one. _Real_ good merchandise we're gonna get from him."

The second voice sounded actually _jovial_ , like the three of them were old friends out painting the town red. His name came floating down through the ether and Dean ground it out in weary alarm,

"Sh'mus?"

"Welcome back Mox, nice of you to join us,"

Dean's face crumpled in confusion,

"M'x?"

"Fucking hell," Barrett laughed roughly making Dean officially the _only_ one not having a great time, "He's really fucking out of it – can't remember who he is."

"Well given what's going to happen to the bastard, that's for the best, don't you think?"

The answer and Barrett's corresponding chuckle hit Dean with a shudder that rattled at his bones. Something terrible was going to happen but his poor addled memory couldn't think of _what_.

With his minor reserves spent, the two men resumed their towing, dragging his unresponsive body along. The corridor they were moving down seemed oddly familiar but before Dean could remember why, their surroundings had changed.

Suddenly they were in a big open room, tiled – like the rest of the basement – but far more bright. Overhead lights looking a little like spaceships were angled on long poles over a plain flat bed and there were trolleys containing gauzes, metal instruments and wipes pulled close. Every inch of surface was covered with sterile plastics and there was a man in the doorway in green surgical scrubs. His eyes peered out above a mask and beneath a hairnet and he looked like a demon, sent straight up from hell.

 _What the –_

As Dean's alarm bells began ringing in double time, he desperately tried to pull back again. This time however, Sheamus and Barrett were prepared for it and they held on tight.

He had nowhere to go.

"Here we are," the Irishman chirped cheerily, "Another donor delivered straight to your door,"

"About time – you're late and where the hell is Rusev?"

The surgeon's voice was accented too and Dean felt sure he should have remembered who he was. As it happened however, the bulk of his attentions were focused in trying to stop himself being dragged along. He attempted to dig his heels into the flooring, but since it was tiled, they gave him no grip at all. It was a little like Barrett was pulling him across an ice rink. The Englishman didn't even have to try.

 _Fuck._

"He got held up beating the crap out of some arsehole, don't worry though, he'll be along."

 _Some arsehole?_

Dean frowned, the sentence tugging at his brainstem and then suddenly it hit him.

"Not s'me asshole, 's _Seth,_ "

Somewhere above him Wade Barrett stiffened and the dagger-like fingers curled in tight around Dean's arm,

"That's the second time he's said that fucking name now,"

"Why is he _saying_ anything at _all_?"

"Yeah, about that," Sheamus offered sheepishly, as the surgeon's thick tones echoed sharply off the walls, "I shot him up with what you gave me – emptied the entire syringe – but he started coming round a couple of minutes earlier, so whatever the dose was, it wasn't enough."

" _Madre de Dios_."

Dean blinked.

The guy was _Spanish_? Or no – _spoke_ Spanish. Dean wanted to say he was actually Mexican. De Leon? Dos Rios? It was something like that.

His brain hurt from thinking and he let out a groan.

"Can we stand around and talk about this later?" Barrett grumbled, hauling him a few steps further along, "Let's just get him up on the fucking table and get it over with already, I'm _sick_ of this one."

Together he and Sheamus propelled Dean forward and then jerked him to a halt as his shins hit something hard. He winced a little but had no time left to dwell on things as their bony, grabby fingers slid up beneath his arms. As both men grunted with exertion on either side of him, Dean suddenly found himself suspended in the air, his heart turning over as he was bodily flipped forwards, landing heavily, chest first on a clinical smelling bed.

" _Ugh_ – ,"

He grunted as the air was pushed clean out of him and then attempted to move his legs and arms. It was freedom that was only briefly for the taking, because almost at once the hands were gripping him tight again. Not only that but they were pulling cords around him and he frowned in bewilderment as he was securely fastened down.

"Nuh – _what_ – ,"

"I told you, _shut up_."

Barrett's hand bounced Dean's head off the padding and he tried to bat him off to pitiful avail. When he turned his head and blinked into the lamplight, it was to find that his wrists were secured in line with his head, pinioned and buckled in tight leather straps that were stitched straight to the mattress and not going anywhere. Trying to kick his legs out drew much the same result and his stomach turned clean over and his blood ran cold.

 _Fuck._

"No point struggling Mox," Sheamus cooed eerily, somewhere close – too close – to his head, "You're not going anywhere feller."

Dean snarled a little and continued to kick out, the helplessness and utter futility taking mere seconds to wear him completely out. His skin was prickling with sweat and total panic and he could feel his scruffy bangs begin to stick to his head,

"No – ," he murmured.

It sounded pathetic and in response the Irishman threw his head back and laughed,

"Sorry Mox, I told you, it's too late now. The gang's all here. Looks like we can make a start. All we need is another _tiny_ injection and then it'll all be over. You won't feel a _thing_."

Somewhere to his left, the surgeon snorted wryly and Dean rolled his weary head to glance across. Not being able to see the guy's features was turning him into an anaesthetic-based dream and he swam in and out of Dean's groggy vision like a green apparition with red glowing eyes.

"Oh really? Another tiny injection? Where do you think I'm going to get one of those? I _gave_ you the dosage and now he's awake again. So what do _you_ suggest we do now?"

Sheamus shrugged,

"Just get some more of it, I mean, you're a doctor – you've got this stuff, right?"

"Filed and accounted for," the Mexican replied fiercely, "Do you have any idea how much trouble I go to so it looks like we have full stock? I can't just go up and help myself because I own it. There are systems in place. If I took more we'd be _caught_."

"Well then I don't know – ,"

" _Idiota_ , this is a fucking _disaster_ – ,"

"No it's not,"

At the sound of Wade Barrett's icy calm sounding tones, the bickering factions lapsed into silence, looking across at the Englishman with frowns and making Dean spin his head to look at him too. Barrett's chiselled features were eerie with malice and he was holding up a roll of silver duct tape. Sheamus snorted at him, not following the logic,

"What?"

"Don't you get it? He doesn't _need_ to be knocked out, he _needs_ to be quiet. This'll do the job."

Sheamus' mouth fell open in horror and whatever was happening, Dean could tell it wasn't good. It was a strange and deeply unsettling place to be in – understanding the words but not comprehending what was meant. He tried again to wiggle his wrists loose but his attempt was weak and it got him nowhere.

 _Damn._

"You want to do the operation while he's _conscious_?" Sheamus barked, "Are you fucking _nuts_?"

"Why not? I mean, he's a goner either way, right? So what does it matter?"

"Won't that – _hurt_?"

Somewhere above him, Barrett chuckled roughly and when Dean turned his head, he was staring straight at the guy's crotch. The Englishman's proximity was suddenly startling and Dean grunted unhappily and tried to back up.

 _No good._

"I always knew you were a fucking coward Sheamus," Barrett ripped some tape free, "What about you doc? Freaking out?"

There was a horrible beat before the surgeon spoke up again – Del Rio, that was it, _that_ was his name – and although he cleared his throat and sounded fairly uncertain, his answer was definitive,

"Let's just get it done."

"Good man," Barrett smirked, "I knew you'd see things my way."

Leaning down he grabbed a handful of Dean's hair and yanked his captive's head up hard. As Dean let out an angry grunt, Barrett slapped a thick piece of tape across his mouth and then smoothed it out roughly with the back of his hand. Once he was done, he let go of the curls and Dean's face dropped down hard onto the bed.

" _Unf_ – ,"

"There," Barrett put his arms out in triumph, "All sorted. Now how about we fucking get to work?"

Del Rio nodded and moved towards his patient and Dean wriggled frantically as his shirt was peeled up. His breath blew out in hard, sharp puffs beneath the tape strip, but the faster he exhaled the stickier it seemed to get. His entire system felt like it was going into overdrive and his senses screamed at him to get the hell out. He tried to push his stomach down into the mattress but Del Rio continued to yank the fabric back, pulling it further and further up his ribcage until Dean's kidneys were totally exposed.

In a horrible moment, it all came flooding back to him.

They were harvesting his organs.

They were going to have him killed.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

He struggled again wildly and the exertion made him grunt and the frantic beads of sweat dripped into his eyes. Above him there was a sigh that sounded disgruntled and Del Rio snapped an order out,

"God _damn_ it, hold him down."

Barrett didn't need any extra encouragement and in a second his forearm was pinning Dean's skull, pressing him face down into the sterile cushion and forcing him to grunt and fight for every breath.

"For Christ sakes," Sheamus piped up in tones of horror, which Dean took to mean that his chances weren't good, "I didn't fucking sign up for _this_ shit."

"Think of the money _Paddy_."

"Not this time man,"

The Irishman was actually _pacing_ around them, like a really ginger tiger trapped in a cage. He was more pent up than Dean had ever seen him, or could _remember_ having seen him, although he couldn't remember much.

He struggled again and Barrett pressed harder, growling into his ear,

"You might want to stop,"

"This is crazy," Sheamus muttered breathlessly, rubbing his mohawk, "Totally crazy. Jesus _fuck_."

"Will you go outside already?" Del Rio snapped back at him, pulling a trolley closer and rifling amongst the tools, "There's a bottle of scotch in the top drawer of my desk. Have some and try to fucking calm yourself down. You're making _me_ nervous."

"Fine," he huffed as Dean watched him pleadingly.

 _Don't go man, stop them, you're my one fucking hope_.

But whatever misgivings Sheamus had about the harvesting, he chose instead to take them out the door. The sound of it slamming made Dean's heart turn over and his body began shaking through cold sweat and fear. There was literally no fucking way he could get out of this one, he'd tried, he was tired, he was powerless to help himself.

Beside him, Del Rio continued to fumble through the instruments and the sound of clanking metal set Dean's nerves on edge. He couldn't see the tray of scalpels, but he knew that was what they were and that his time was almost fucking up.

His mind drifted absently and dazedly towards his teammates and how they would find him once it was too late. His body would be uncovered at the side of the road somewhere and the two of them would blame themselves and carry that guilt around. Dean hoped it wouldn't destroy them _too_ badly. Especially Roman, who would cry his eyes out. He was like that – Roman – surprisingly soft hearted, like a big old teddy bear.

Dean had missed that.

Damn it but he'd also missed Rollins for that matter and as his addled mind wandered towards his younger brother, he began to regret never having made it up with Seth.

 _Seth, shit._

He would never know now if the other man was alright and whether the bulky one had killed him or not. Maybe he'd be up there waiting when Dean got there, maybe _she_ would –

Dean's heart seized up.

If he died there and then, did it mean he got to see her? Hold her, actually _be_ with her again? The thought was tantalizing and it briefly set light to him. But how did he know that was how it all worked? What if the end was just that and no more. Knowing his luck there was probably nothing and the thought of the void scared him.

He didn't want to die.

"Alright," Del Rio grumbled, kind of _bored_ -sounding which was pretty unsettling given what he was about to do, "Let me just clean the area and we can get started."

Dean flinched as a sterile wipe was slapped down on him, feeling startlingly cold against his sweaty, hot skin. He could feel his kidneys tingling in weird anticipation and he grunted and tried one last time to get out.

This time Barrett didn't even bother to swipe at him, simply laughing back cruelly over his head,

"Time's up fucker."

Del Rio picked up a scalpel and Dean screwed his eyes shut.

It was over.

He was as good as dead.

* * *

 **Yep, another one of my infamous cliffhangers. It's good to be evil (in a literary sense!)**


	16. Look For Me Baby

**It's that time again!**

 **Squeegee Beckinhime, Sorry to keep you in anticipation, although hopefully that's kind of a good thing as well? Drawing it out a little longer in this one, but help is definitely on the way!**

 **Mandy *Laughs cruelly* YES! Don't worry, I promise I'll put them back together when I'm done.**

 **Skovko, I'm not very good at oneshots, I'm too waffly. As for your other point, yes, for the purposes of this story, Wade is very evil. I don't know why but...well, he just is! I don't think I can really do full-on dark. Peril? Yes. But I'm a quippy kind of person, so that's just how my writing comes across. I'm not very good at stern and serious!**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, I'll be honest, I would love to snap my fingers and have the prequel written but I'm horrible at prequels, like hopeless. Plus I like a bit of levity here and there (not that you would know it from the last/next few chapters) and knowing that the prequel would be all doom and gloom kind of puts me in a funk. Never say never though! If it's any help, I've already written a** _ **sequel**_ **?!**

 **Guest, I hope your heart can hold out through this next one (and the one after that!) I'm super pleased you're enjoying it though. I aim to please!**

 **Ninjoy, I know, I know, I was cruel in that chapter, but what can I say? I've gotta up the ante somehow, right?! As for where Seth and Roman are? Look no further...**

* * *

 **Look For Me Baby**

Roman pulled up outside swanky the offices with an actual, _genuine_ squeal of the brakes. His tires scuffed the curb and rattled the chassis but that didn't matter, very little did.

Seth was out ahead of him and streaking towards the building, casting around the narrow alley for signs of Sheamus' van. It wasn't there, which wasn't a good thing but it was still their best chance at getting Dean back and so they forged ahead anyway.

Maybe _The League_ had parked inside?

The first door they came to was locked and unflinching and it simply wouldn't open no matter how hard Roman pulled. As Seth dashed further along to try the next one, Roman drove his fist into the wood and then sighed.

 _Calm down Reigns, just take it easy_.

But how the hell was he supposed to do that? His best friend – his _brother_ – was potentially inside, drugged up to his eyeballs and being carved up like a pumpkin on Halloween night. He was so pent-up and out of his mind worried that it was beginning to cloud his judgement and paint a red mist across his eyes.

He wanted to hurt _The League_ like he'd never wanted anything.

He wanted them to suffer.

They _needed_ to pay.

"This one's locked as well," Seth bellowed down at him and the helplessness bubbled up from deep inside Roman until it burst in a war cry that was as desperate as it was loud. He almost missed the click of the door in front of him but when he glanced down it was into big and worried brown eyes.

An elderly Hispanic night cleaner was staring up at him, with a rubber glove wound uncertainly around the handle and a mop in the other which she was brandishing like a sword.

Clearly the sight of a big angry Samoan was enough to frighten the geriatric half to death but her attempted departure had given them an opening and as she went to bang the door shut, Roman quickly shot out his hand. Her panic was by no means a match for his muscles and he held it easily, one hand raised to keep her calm,

"It's okay," he offered, trying to sound soothing but unable to keep the growl out of his voice, "We're the police, alright? La policia?"

"Que?"

It didn't seem to work and so he turned back up the alley and roared to his teammate before gesturing,

" _Seth_!"

The smaller man came sprinting back towards him like a racehorse, his hair flying wildly where it had slid from its bun. His eyes were wide and wild with confusion but as he saw the open door, he grinned with relief,

"Thank god man, how'd you get it open?"

As Seth jogged up, Roman stepped across the threshold and as his teammate dove in after him he collided with the maid,

"Oh, wow, sorry ma'am,"

Roman growled,

"Don't bother, I tried to explain, she doesn't want to know."

As if to illustrate his point a little better, the little cleaner skittered backwards and unleashed a string of words. Seth wasn't sure if she was scared or simply pissed at them but eventually he settled on a mixture of both.

They left her behind as they tore through the corridors, taking the stairs almost three at a time. Roman knew the way and so Seth shut up and followed him, feeling the breath tearing out of his lungs. It was almost like he could _sense_ they were close to Dean but not close _enough_.

They needed to get to him.

Like _yesterday_ soon.

Roman burst through the doors of Del Rio's offices like an action movie hero, virtually _blowing_ them off the wall. Beyond them lay a waiting room, shrouded in darkness but still light enough to make out a reception desk and chairs.

"Come on," he grumbled, stalking across the carpet and to a series of doors across the other side. There were a sequence of rooms that led off one from the other, one of which was an operating room. It was small but had all the requisite machinery.

The only thing it was missing was Dean.

" _Fuck_."

Again Roman threw his fist against the drywall and then ran frustrated hands through his hair. Del Rio's place had been their best option. It had _felt_ like Dean was there.

Where the hell had they gone?

"What now man?" Seth blinked across at him, looking to him for guidance that he simply didn't have, "Roman? _Roman_?"

The younger man yelped as Roman threw another punch, launching it so hard into a monitor that it exploded into pieces and threw out a spark.

"I don't fucking _know_ what next Seth,"

"Alright man, fucking calm down before you tear up the place. We need to _think_ – ,"

"Think _what_?"

"I don't know."

A wash of despair swept over the big man and he shook his head wearily and let his shoulders droop,

"It's been too long, what if they've already – ,"

Seth whirled around with a finger held up,

" _No_. Don't say it Roman, do _not_ fucking go there. Dean is alive man, he's fucking _alive_."

To emphasise his point, he shoved Roman bodily and the older man stumbled backwards and collided with the bed. It scooted back across the floor just a little but coldness of the metal made the Samoan man halt.

For a second the two of them stood there in silence and then slowly Roman sucked a breath in and nodded his head,

"You're right,"

Seth sighed,

"You're damn straight I am. This is _Dean Ambrose_ we're talking about. All we gotta do is think _where_ they might have taken him. Does Del Rio have other offices? Own any other place?"

"I don't know," Roman swallowed, before frowning a little and Seth was relieved to see determination spark in his eyes, "But that bastard's office is right across the hallway so if we're going to find answers, they'll be in there."

Together they stalked their way back through the darkened waiting room and towards a name-tagged set of grandiose double doors. Fortunately they weren't locked so they let themselves in quietly and Seth flipped on the lights and then whistled at what he saw,

"Looks like Del Rio is doing pretty well for himself. This office is bigger than _Stephanie's_ man."

"Furnished with blood money," Roman growled back sharply, sweeping through some notelets, "See what you can find."

Together they went through every scrap of paper, prying drawers open and rifling through the trash. Their detective instincts were working in overdrive and they were so completely focused that the ring of Seth's cell phone made them both jump,

"Steph," he answered, dispensing with the formalities, "Hit us with it, what have you got?"

"Nothing."

" _Nothing_?" Seth bit back bitterly, "What do you mean _nothing_?"

"What do you think I mean? Apart from being ridiculously wealthy, Alberto Del Rio comes back clean. He makes no more or less than other doctors in the district and he has no offshore bank accounts, at least that we could find."

"What about other properties? Any offices or warehouses? Anywhere he could operate from?"

"Not that we've found."

" _Shit_ ," Seth breathed out, pulling his hair fiercely and shaking his head at Roman, "Rusev?"

"Still out for the count. Thank you for _that_ one. I assume you boys have nothing as well?"

"We're still looking."

"Well you need to look _harder_ , they've already got the jump on us."

"God _damn it_ we know."

"Don't shout at me Rollins," Stephanie shot back harshly, "This is your screw up."

"You can go to hell."

" _Rollins_ – ," she fired at him, eight kinds of angry but Seth bit back his response as Roman quickly raised a hand. It was a warning gesture, but not about his attitude, instead his teammate's eyes were trained on the door.

 _Huh_?

Dropping the phone from his ear, Seth listened, hearing little initially except the traffic noise outside. He glanced across at Roman, frowning at him mildly and was about to ask _what_ when he heard it as well.

The waiting room doors were banging closed.

They'd been opened.

Seth tensed.

Some fucker was coming in.

At once he disconnected the call from the commissioner, taking his tally of hanging up on her to two. He flicked it onto silent then followed Roman across the office, positioning themselves in the blind spot behind the door.

"You think it's Del Rio?" Seth murmured huskily and Roman scowled darkly,

"I damn well hope it is."

Silently, both men pulled their weapons out and stood waiting for their chance to rain down merry hell. The figure that pushed through not two seconds later was muttering to himself rapidly and shaking a bearded head,

"Fucking _crazy_ ," a Celtic brogue gabbled, "The pair of them must be out of their tiny _minds_."

He was halfway across the office before Roman slammed the door shut and the Irishman jumped clean off the ground in surprise,

"What the fuck – ,"

"Hold it right there," Seth barked sharply, as both he and Roman moved fully out into the room. Their guns were trained simultaneously on the trafficker and his eyes in turn were focused on them. He looked a million conflicted emotions, but bewilderment was probably the clearest of the lot.

"Who the fuck are you two?"

Roman ignored him,

"Where's Dean?"

"Dean? I – I don't know any Dean feller. Put the guns down, why don't we talk about this, okay?"

Letting out a sigh, Seth stepped in closer, his voice sounding pinched as he forced out a growl,

"Jon Moxley – where the _fuck_ is Jon Moxley?"

 _That_ got a reaction.

A big one at that.

Sheamus' head almost jerked back off his shoulders the response was so violent. Then the red brows drew in close. In an instant Sheamus was nearly all but caught up with them, he just needed one last little thing confirmed,

"You the law?"

Roman glowered,

"We're worse than that, _trust me_. Now tell us where the hell Dean is."

"Dean?" Sheamus blinked back, "He's one of you guys? That crafty little fucker – ,"

Roman raised his gun.

Within a second it had moved from the chest area to the forehead and with visions of an execution-style death going down, Sheamus swallowed visibly and held up his hands,

"Alright, alright – no more name calling. I can tell you're kind of touchy about him, huh?"

" _Where_ ," Roman bellowed and the shout was so primeval that Seth even flinched a little where he stood. Sometimes it was a great thing having a Samoan powerhouse with lungs the size of football field to provide their team's force.

"Come on man, don't leave him hanging. You won't like him when he's angry and he's about to fucking blow."

Momentarily, Sheamus debated his options and it was satisfying to see the Irishman look so lost. Clearly he didn't want to admit his involvement but nor did he want his fate to get worse. His tongue flickered out serpent-like and skidded across his lip line and Roman growled and stepped in ever more close.

"Okay, okay, just call him off will 'ya? They're downstairs?"

"Downstairs?"

"In the basement, yeah."

 _The basement._

The answer hit Seth like an avalanche and he spun towards Roman and almost slapped his own head.

"Dean said they took him _downstairs_ , remember? He said they went down some steps and then the doctor came in. _Fuck._ He _is_ here. I fucking _knew_ he was."

"Might want to hurry it up a little though," Sheamus interjected and they both turned back towards him, frowning in alarm at his severe sounding tones, "They were just about to get started when I left them and that's not even the worst of the thing – ,"

Roman stomped in close, backing Sheamus up against the lip of the desk edge and angling the revolver beneath the beard braids.

"What else?"

Sheamus licked his lips again and Seth swept in behind him and quickly patted him down. There was a knife in the Irishman's designer-brand back pocket and Seth removed it with a snort.

Clearly trafficking paid well.

"Your boy woke up as we were dragging him down there – ,"

Sheamus seemed hesitant.

That wasn't a good sign.

Roman grabbed him by the shirt and shook him fiercely, hammering his spine against the hard edge of the desk. When he spoke, each word was punctuated clearly and as shot through with anger as Seth had ever heard. Even when it had come out that _he_ had betrayed them, Roman had never been as furious as he was now.

" _What else_?"

" _Alright_. Look, the doctor wouldn't use any more drugs on him, said they'd used enough – ,"

Seth's stomach flipped on him,

"Holy _fuck_."

Sheamus nodded and for the first time since they'd seen him, all those days ago bending Dean's ear back at the bar, he actually looked genuinely, _nauseatingly_ uneasy and not just because he was caught in Roman's grip.

"They were going to do it while he was _awake_ man. I got the hell out of there. I couldn't see that."

As the truth exploded along Roman's brainstem the big man could do nothing but gaze back in alarm. The whole thing was simply too monstrous to even _think_ about. They were going to cut Dean open? _While_ he was _awake_?

Desperation lanced through his system and he shook their captive roughly, until the Celt's whole body shook,

" _Where_? We need to know _exactly_."

"Down the stairs, turn right, along the corridor – it's at the end."

Behind them Seth was already moving, pulling out and manipulating a pair of plastic cuffs. He bent them round and then dragged Sheamus towards the windows, thrusting his hands into the bindings and pulling hard. Fortunately Del Rio's office had fancy casements and the loop of the handle made an excellent tie. He tested the give once and then stepped back away from them, pulling loose his cell phone and then punching a number in.

Roman was already several long strides ahead of him, practically out of the swanky office doors.

"Rollins – ,"

"No time to talk Steph, you need to send patrol cars. Del Rio's offices. Upper West Side. We've got Sheamus cuffed on the first floor in the main office and we're going down into the basement to get Dean."

"He's alive?"

Seth paused, not wanting to give her an answer. How the fuck _could_ he when he didn't even know? Instead he grit his teeth and growled out through them,

"Just send people Steph."

He promptly hung up on her. Three for three. What a record _that_ was.

He was almost at the door when he heard Sheamus call out to him and he paused, wasting valuable time they didn't have.

"Hey, if he's okay, I get consideration, right? Helping you find him? My sentence will be short?"

Seth snarled back at him, his fingers round the handle and his tone as dark as it was possible to go.

"That depends if we get there before they kill him. You'd just better hope for your sake we do."

Then he followed Roman in a gallop towards the basement, praying with every step.

 _Hold on Dean, hold on._

* * *

 **Batman and Robin are off to the rescue. But are they going to get there in time? *Cue dramatic music and scene change***


	17. Close To The Wire

**Okay, so you've all been really patient, no more cliffhangers now, all the answers lie ahead!**

 **Squeegee Beckinhime, I know I'm mean (but only a little bit mean!) You'll have to buy some of that horrible stop 'n gro stuff that they paint on kids nails to stop them from biting them!**

 **Skovko, You can shout at them, not sure they'd hear you, but you can totally shout at them, I'd let you do that!**

 **Mandy, Aww, thank you. I hope you enjoy the sequels and follow-ups as much as the originals.**

 **Ohana1337, No, I love you really, honest I do! But I've got to add a little bit of peril here and there. That's half the fun, right?! Thank you for the compliment by the way, I do try and keep my writing up to scratch.**

 **Ninjoy, Here you go, next chapter, hope the wait wasn't too agonizing! I'm glad you're so excited to read what's coming though, makes a poor little writer's heart leap for joy!**

 **Rebel8954, I do love a good cliffhanger (or two or three) here and there! I'm super glad the story hasn't let up yet. Fingers crossed I keep you hooked until the end!**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, I love how everyone is willing them to get there! They're hurrying, I promise. The boys are running fast!**

* * *

 **Close To The Wire**

If it weren't for a few – _minor_ – niggling issues, then Dean might have assumed he was existing in a dream. Well, maybe not a dream, more like a nightmare, but it was so damn _bizarre_ that it didn't seem real.

How could it have done?

He was tied to a surgical bed, stuck full of sedatives, with tape across his mouth and an Englishman on his head. As in _literally_ on his head, with a meaty forearm pressing straight down.

Worse still, a maniacal Mexican surgeon was poised with a scalpel about to slice his kidneys out.

It wasn't real.

It fucking _couldn't_ be.

Except for the fact that it absolutely was.

He was trapped in a basement, staring death in the eyeballs and despite the drug-enhanced, dizzying bewilderment, the entire scenario frightened him to fuck.

Every last inch of his body was tremoring as he wrenched and struggled and tried his hardest to get out. They were only leather straps stitched onto a mattress. How firm could they be?

The fucking things wouldn't budge.

Dean's entire body was drenched in sweat and it beaded down his forehead and stung at his eyes. His face felt like it had been placed in a furnace and left there – it was _roasting_ – and he was gasping for air. The tape across his lips meant his mouth was out of action and so he was forced to drag desperate breaths through his nose. That was easier said than done however, since Barrett was pushing him practically face-first into the bed. His lungs were aching from the limited oxygen and he was grunting in dissent beside asphyxiation squeaks.

It was all too much for his system to cope with.

He literally felt like his body was going to burst.

As cold gloved fingers dropped down onto his ribcage, spreading out the tense and tender skin across his back, Dean flinched visibly and let out a whimper.

Barrett grinned down at him like a kid in a candy store and fuck if he wasn't _enjoying_ himself,

"This is gonna hurt like a bitch, you ready matey?"

Dean braced himself.

He wasn't ready at all.

His head spun wildly and the breath exploded out him. Maybe he would get lucky and faint? In the corner of his vision, the scalpel moved towards him and Dean closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

" _Dean_?"

The voice filtered across to him at exactly the same moment that the door to the makeshift theatre burst wide. The eruption of noise was like a bomb detonating and it made him dizzy and confused all at once.

Beside him, Del Rio jerked back the scalpel, so that at least was a hell of a relief. Not that Dean fully understood what was happening until his eyes fell on two figures standing – guns raised – inside the room.

Seth and Roman.

Dean blinked at them silently, his addled mind trying to work out why the two were there. It took him a second, but then finally he got it and his heart hammered wildly.

 _Seth and Roman._

The cavalry.

"Get the fuck away from him," Seth ordered briskly, his gun on Del Rio and its point backing him up, "Drop the scalpel, drop it now and back away from him. Against the wall, hands above your head."

The doctor complied with pussy-like obedience and it seemed as though the color had drained from his face. No longer did the surgeon look swarthy and arrogant, he looked _terrified._

Dean grunted.

 _Your turn doc_.

Wade Barrett however was _not_ so accommodating and nor was he about to go down without a fight. As Seth and Roman corralled Del Rio with stern glances, the Englishman reached out like a shot and took his chance. In the time it took for anyone to blink again, he had grabbed up a scalpel and had it pressed against Dean's neck.

Right up against his carotid artery.

Almost at once, the entire room stiffened and a burst of pure fury shivered over Roman's sight. Dean hadn't thought he'd live to see that again. It's presence was nice and oddly reassuring and as the big man's eyes slid briefly down to his best friend, they softened momentarily.

 _We'll get you out of this uce._

Seth's eyes were focussed entirely on Barrett and his gaze was eerie with intent,

"Put it down Barrett, before I put a bullet in you."

The scalpel edge pushed in a little bit closer until Dean could feel his pulse beating up against the blade. He screwed his eyes shut and grunted a little and Barrett increased the agony by grabbing up his hair.

"Can you get a shot off before I rupture his artery? How long do you think your boy here will last?"

"I'm warning you," Seth replied, as calmly as was possible, "Put it down before you get hurt."

Dean had to hand it to Barrett – very, _very_ grudgingly – as there was simply no denying that the asshole had balls.

"So what? You guys cops? Is that what this is then?"

Roman glowered back at him,

"Yeah, we are."

"Want to add killing a cop to your record?" Seth chimed in again, "Life sentence right there."

Barrett shrugged,

"Well if I'm going down anyway – which I'm guessing I'm gonna be – then what do I have to lose? _You_ on the other hand, stand to lose your buddy. You willing to take that chance and bet on his life?"

Seth paused,

"I might."

But when no gunfire was forthcoming, Barrett chuckled again and pulled Dean's hair even harder until he moaned,

"I fucking _knew_ something was off about you Moxley. I bet you think you're a pretty clever guy? Bringing down the big bad gang on your own? Well the joke's on you because now people are going to die. Innocent people who need a kidney – all because _you_ don't like us breaking the law."

He was talking to Dean – practically spitting into his hairline – but his captive was simply too out of it to take note. He could register the words and the logistical meaning but he couldn't make the sentence compute at once. He felt sick and confused and so hot he could barely _breathe_ right. Every last part of him either hurt or burnt aggressively and his ears had joined in with an unrelenting buzz. Around his vision, dark storm clouds were gathering and it felt like his consciousness was stepping away. He fought to stay with them, he really was trying but it was all too much for him.

Dean was close to giving in.

In weary desperation he looked up again at Roman, finding out the features through his fast drooping lids. Again the bigger man gazed back at him achingly and just knowing he was there – that _both_ of them were there for him – briefly brought back a momentary spark.

"Innocent people?" Seth spat back fiercely and – oh yeah – they were still talking. He'd forgotten that part, "What about the people whose kidneys you ripped out? Weren't _they_ innocent?"

"What? Dosed up on drink and drugs? Those people were never going to amount to _anything_. They would have ended up dead in the gutter – we were just speeding that process up."

Roman growled,

"You're fucking sick."

"Aren't we all?"

"Not like that we're not."

Stepping a little closer while his attentions were on Roman, Seth was able to gain some precious ground. To enable his teammate to do the same thing though, he tried to draw back Barrett's focus with a laugh,

"So what? You're saying this wasn't about the money? You're just a good Samaritan. Is that it?"

Barrett smirked across at him, smug but an idiot.

"Call me Mother Theresa if you must."

As Seth's eyes flickered down to where Dean was lying, his heart seized up at the look on his face. Dean was barely on the fringes of consciousness. His poor exposed back frantically heaving up and down. His blue orbs wandered around the room lazily and landed fleetingly on his. For a second it was like he didn't even know him and the confusion made Seth's blood boil.

"Come on, it's over man, we've got your little friends and the whole department's on its way here. Better for you if you give yourself up and come with us quietly. Now fucking _let him go_."

The whole situation was becoming ever more fractious and for a second no one knew which way things might go. Momentarily, it seemed like Barrett might even give up – he was certainly starting to move the scalpel away – but then suddenly he smiled at them like he had changed his mind completely and Seth's heart spun,

 _Uh oh, no go._

"Sorry lads but going quietly ain't my thing. I always liked the whole _blaze of glory_ deal."

"Barrett – ," Roman started, taking a step towards him but the Englishman snorted and glanced down at Dean, yanking his head up with such sudden hatred that Dean's confused brain wondered if it might break,

"Never fucking liked you Moxley," he murmured, then he abruptly brought the blade down.

 _Fuck._

It never even got close to Dean's skin. Two rounds apiece put paid to that.

Through his dazed and foggy eyes, Dean watched Barrett sail backwards, blood spurting out of fresh holes on his chest. The descent almost seemed to occur in slow motion and then the sound hit him in a new explosion of noise.

 _Bang, bang._

 _Bang, bang._

As Wade's body travelled earthwards it collided with a trolley and a metal dish of instruments erupted into the sky. It added yet more noise to Dean's buzz-filled hearing and it was such a sensory overload that it brought tears to his eyes.

"Stay there," Seth barked as Del Rio spun round startled, "Stay there, don't you _dare_ fucking move."

In the sudden hush Roman crossed the room to check on Barrett while in the meantime, Seth darted to their battered brother's side. His speech came out at a million miles an hour and his cold hands fell on top of Dean and made him flinch, but it didn't matter _too_ much because the two of them were with him and after everything he'd been through, that was just fine.

"Dean? _Jesus_. Dean, you okay man?"

Lifting his head gently, Seth peeled off the tape, unable to stop himself from wincing slightly at the sheer heat radiating off the older man's cheeks. As soon as his mouth was free Dean began inhaling, sucking in deep long breaths that made him cough. Seth's hands were on his back in an instant, rubbing between his shoulder blades and trying to keep him calm,

"Easy man, easy. It's okay, we got you. You're safe Dean. We got them. It's all over now."

The sight of Roman looming up beside him was all the proof Seth needed that Barrett was dead and he curled his lips up and nodded grimly, not needing any words between them.

 _Good._

Reaching over, Roman rubbed a hand through Dean's damp curls, palming him almost like a father with a child. Without any words he unbuckled the wrist ties before moving around the gurney to free up Dean's legs.

"Hold on man," Seth continued to soothe him, "We're getting you out of here – taking you home."

"Batt'groun?" Dean asked in a voice that crackled and was several octaves lower than its usual tones. He sounded dazed and completely exhausted and Seth pawed his hair and shook his head,

"No. We're not going back to The Battleground Dean, we're done there. We're taking you to _your_ home."

"My h'me?"

"Uh huh."

"She gonna be th're?"

The other men froze and glanced up at each other, neither knowing exactly what to say. Dean's head was so creamed that he couldn't remembered she'd died a year back. How did they tell him? Fuck that. They _couldn't_. Neither of them wanted to see him break that way.

Eventually Roman sucked a deep breath in and cleared his throat a little,

"No babe, she won't be there."

Both of them braced themselves for a question – a _why_ , a _where is she_ , something like that – but in the end all Dean did was grumble a little and offer up a bewildered looking frown.

"Oh."

As Roman unbuckled the final restraint, Seth reached over and pulled Dean's crumpled shirt back down. As his fingers slid over it, Dean's battered body shuddered and Roman took his jacket off and draped it over him,

"Come on."

While Seth moved across the room to secure Del Rio to a water pipe – at an angle that pulled his arms roughly above his head for no other reason than _fuck_ he deserved it – Roman rolled Dean over and slowly sat him up, bracing his friend as the drugs made his head spin and almost planted him straight back down.

" _Whoa_ – ,"

"Alright," Roman grumbled, pulling him closer and then inching him towards the edge, "I got you uce, it's fine."

As Dean's shaking legs made contact with the tiled floor, Seth swept back in to offer his support, sliding in quietly beneath Dean's shoulder and bracing his weight as he straightened back up.

"Easy man," he muttered as Dean stumbled, "Nice and easy, we're right here."

But it was obvious that Dean was never going to walk himself out of there and so Roman and Seth settled for coaxing him along, trying to let him move his feet sloppily instead of dragging him like _The League_ had done.

Thinking about it made Roman's frown tighten and he blew a long breath out and tried to calm down. Dean didn't need him to go off the deep end but it was difficult to stay cool with Dean half- _hanging_ off his arm. Up close to his best friend the sheer heat was staggering, as if Dean's internal thermostat had been cranked fully up. At the same time the copper blonde was also sweating fiercely and as he moved at a crawl towards the metal staircase, a gust of fresh wind hit them and made him shudder from head to toe. Suddenly he was icy again and even with Roman's jacket he was shivering like mad.

They stopped to let Seth add his own jacket and the pause gave them a very, very brief respite.

"Nearly there babe," Roman growled at him softly, reaching over to Dean's skull and making them knock heads. Dean smiled back weakly and although it wasn't focussed, it was at least a sign that he was with them – however vaguely – and the sight of it made Roman's heart nearly burst.

 _Thank you god._

"All good to go?" Seth asked, tucking back in on the other side again and Dean looked round to meet him with clouded, sluggish eyes,

"You're n't dead."

"Huh? What would I be dead for?"

Dean shook his head wearily and waved a heavy arm,

"Bi' guy. Thought he mi't 'a killed ya,"

Seth's frown narrowed before he suddenly realized,

"What? _Rusev_? Hold on, you _saw_ that?"

"Uh huh. Tri'd to get t'ya, couldn', m'sorry – ,"

"Nah, come on man. I was alright. It would have taken more than _that_ guy to stop me. Besides, I mean, he was practically all fat. I had the whole thing _completely_ under control."

On his other side Roman coughed somewhat pointedly,

"Oh really?"

Seth shrugged,

"Okay, so Roman _might have_ helped."

The familiar repartee made Dean smiled wearily and Seth smiled back, pleased in more ways than one. Not only were they all there and all fucking _living_ , Dean had actually been _worried_ about him. That was new but by no means unwelcome and it seemed to mark a turning point for them all. It didn't matter that Dean was drugged and semi-conscious, Seth was still going to take it as a win.

The closer they got to the fresh smelling exit, the louder the wail of police sirens got. Stephanie had obviously followed Seth's instructions, or maybe the cleaner had reported a break-in to the cops? Either way the sound was deeply reassuring and Seth jiggled Dean a little,

"Listen to that man."

For the first time since they'd found him, Dean didn't answer and they realised that he'd suddenly got heavier as well.

"Dean?" Roman barked, grinding to a halt and watching his best friend's head loll onto his chest. He grabbed the hot cheeks and shook them in panic, " _Dean_."

But no amount of jerking did any good. Dean's consciousness had completely given out on him and had swept him away in a haze of anaesthetic drugs. He had fought, he had battled, he had willed himself to stay awake and while he'd been in danger, that was exactly what he'd done. But sandwiched between his teammates – no, scratch that, his _brothers_ – the rush of adrenaline had bolted and left and he hadn't been able to deny it any longer. Besides, it was okay, Roman and Seth had him and if he'd known nothing else, then Dean had known that he was safe. Sleep was a very, _very_ welcome state to be in and he let it claim him.

 _Safe and sound._

* * *

 **There, see? I'm not that mean, I saved him. Well, Roman and Seth did, but hey, I helped! Only two more chapters left to go on this one. Thanks for sticking with me!**


	18. Lost And Found

**So, here we go, the first of the final two chapters and probably one of my favourite ones. Not sure why, I just kinda like it. Hope you all do too.**

 **Skovko, He totally deserved it. Plus, we all know Seth can do evil really well if pushed!**

 **Squeegee Beckinhime, Yay! Glad you liked it. Sorry I didn't let Dean get too battered. I just can't bring myself to hurt him really bad. Just enough to trigger lashings of hurt/comfort!**

 **Ohana1337, Lol, seriously I will seriously keep writing! Super happy you liked the big climax though!**

 **Mandy, I'm just glad you like it so much. It's always good to get people hooked! But yeah, definitely another one to come.**

 **Ninjoy, Thank you, it's one of my favourites too. I kind of came up with that chapter before anything else (masochistic of me I know, but I can't control my muse) and the rest just fell into place around it.**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, I hope you enjoy these last two. They're very much about the boys just bonding and tying up a few loose ends.**

* * *

 **Lost And Found**

Dean woke up to the bleep of machinery and a clinical smell that assaulted his nose. His eyes weren't yet open so the unusual sterility sent a bolt of panic through his bones.

He wasn't sure why.

His body was alive with a heady sense of danger and the feeling that he was somehow tied down. He felt helpless and utterly confused by what was happening.

The only thing he knew was that he had to get away.

At the exact same moment that his eyes sprang open, he also jolted up from the bed, rising suddenly like a mummy from a sarcophagus and scaring the two people in the room half to death.

" _Whoa_ – ,"

It was clear to them both within less than a second that Dean had no idea where he was. His dazed and cloudy eyes scanned the room wildly but didn't seem to be able to process what he saw. The unease and panic on his face was heart-wrenching and Seth moved closer with his hands held up,

"Hey, you're alright," he offered across gently, stepping in as if approaching a cornered bear, "It's just us Dean, okay? It's Seth and Roman. You're alright man. I promise, you're safe."

"You're in the hospital," Roman added slowly, not moving a muscle in the chair by the bed. The last thing he wanted was to freak Dean out further and have him make a break for it and pull the equipment out. His heart rate monitor was going off like a fire alarm and every bleep of machinery made them wince.

In response, the blue eyes studied him cautiously before moving towards Seth and going through the same thing. Recognition and understanding dawned slowly but when it did it was both total and utterly relieved.

" _Ugh_."

Letting out a groan of discontent, Dean dropped his head back, his shoulders sinking deep into the pillow's soft folds. Against the stark white linen of the hospital, his face seemed pale – like he'd seen a damn ghost. His eyes were reddened and his brain was clearly rattled but he was _finally_ back with them and that counted for a lot.

"How you doing?" Roman smiled, "You alright?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

Dean's brow quirked up,

"Do I still got two kidneys?"

"Yeah, you do."

"Both of 'em mine?"

Seth snorted loudly and the patented Ambrose ribaldry broke the apprehension of the earlier mood. After all, if Dean was both awake _and_ kidding them he _had_ to be better, right?

"Both of them are yours Dean, same ones you came with. You really don't remember what happened to you?"

"Remember what?"

Seth shrugged,

"Any of it?"

In reply Dean frowned and thought about it hard. The entire night – or was it day – swirled wildly in front of him, like snapshots from some really weird movie he'd once seen. It was like trying to pick apart the plot of _Inception_ after having watched it drunk.

Not that he did that anymore.

Shifting against the pillows almost absently, he managed to upset his heart monitor cord. Yanking it away from his finger almost violently and then watching in a daze as Roman slid it back on.

"I remember _The League_ were _in_ the apartment and that they sent that Rusev guy after Seth," Dean's head jerked up and he suddenly looked fretful, "Hey, he didn't – ,"

Seth cut him off,

"No, don't worry man. I'm fine."

"We put his ass in jail," Roman grumbled, " _All_ their asses."

Dean nodded back but it wasn't too convincing. It was like watching the pieces of a puzzle fall into place. Or at least it _would_ have been were the puzzle not a big one – five-thousand tiles and most of them sky. Stepping in closer, Seth pushed him gently,

"You remember what happened _after_ that?"

"Do I want to?"

Roman snorted,

"I'd say probably not."

There was a momentary pause as Seth and Roman fell silent, not sure whether their brother would or _could_ cope with anymore. For Dean's part he simply continued to stare off eerily, desperately scanning the recesses of his brain.

His next sentence caught them both by surprise.

"He's dead, right? Barrett?"

Seth nodded,

"Uh huh."

"You shot him?"

"We both did."

Dean blinked again,

"He had somethin' sharp pressed up against my neck – ,"

"Yeah," Roman glowered, clouds gathering at the memory and Dean's sheer helplessness, "He did."

"I _kinda_ remember wakin' up bein' fuckin' _dragged_ somewhere and I definitely remember the red-eyed surgeon guy."

Seth raised a brow at him, uncertain,

"Red-eyed?"

"Hey, those drugs were some pretty heavy shit man, to me it looked like he had red eyes."

"Black is more like it," Roman muttered from the corner and in such protective tones that Dean couldn't help but grin, "Match his god damn black ass _heart_."

Evidently Roman Reigns wasn't a part of the Del Rio fan club, although the reasons as to _why_ that was were still lost in Dean's mind.

 _Think._

"I remember Barrett pressin' my head down. Y'know, I never liked that guy."

"None of us did uce."

Without any warning, Dean's eyes abruptly widened and it was instantly apparent that he'd recalled a whole lot more. His mouth snapped up and down like a goldfish for a second and then he blinked across at them in horrified alarm,

"Where they goin' to do the fuckin' _surgery_ on me? While I was _awake_?"

Seth sighed,

"Got it in one, man."

" _Christ_."

For a long time Dean could do little but stare at them, processing his brush with an agonizing death. The fear and the nausea and the _heat_ came rushing back to him and he started to drag in big, deep breaths.

It was hideous, it was frightening, it was god damn _unreal_ –

Then Roman palmed his nape and Dean turned towards soft eyes,

"Hey, don't worry, we got you just in time babe."

"How? Where were we?"

Seth snorted,

"Del Rio's place."

"His _office_?"

"The basement."

"Wow," Dean blinked, he had known that the Mexican surgeon was dangerous, but he hadn't much figured on _cocksure_ as well, "What an arrogant fuckin' asshole the guy is."

"Trust me," Roman offered, "I've given it a _lot_ of thought and _arrogant_ isn't one of the words I've been using. I've got a whole damn _bunch_ of other options and most of them are four letter words."

The statement was such a complicated mix of ire and jesting that Dean couldn't help but let out an amused snort. It quickly escalated up into a chuckle which – for no good fucking reason – turned into a cough. That then led into a spasm of spluttering that wracked Dean's whole _body_.

 _Great_.

His teammates freaked out.

Almost immediately Roman's hands were pulling him forward and alternately rubbing and banging on his back while Seth rushed over to stand by the doorway, his fingers around the handle,

"You want me to call someone?"

As Dean shook his head and tried to regulate his breathing – while ignoring the oxygen starved and fast forming tears – Roman passed across a tall glass of water and raised it to his lips,

"Here uce, have a drink."

"No," Dean shook his head, "It's all good."

Then in the silence he started laughing for a second time, managing it successfully without any choking and frowning a little, Seth stepped in from the door.

"What? What's funny?"

"I just remembered that damn crocodile farm – ,"

Seth sighed loudly,

"Not _that_ again."

Internally however he was thrilled that Dean recalled it and that he could draw the exact same comparisons he had.

"Like old times, huh?" the copper blonde beamed broadly, before shrugging, "I mean, like, _kinda_ , I guess. Different though and look, what I'm tryin'a say here is thanks for bailin' me out back there."

He seemed a little awkward, which was all the more adorable and Roman reached out and dropped a palm across his leg, waiting until the blue orbs were focused on him and then loading every word with sincerity and intent,

"Uce, you're my best friend _and_ my brother. _Both_ of you damn idiots are. It's the three of us or nothing. I mean, we're a _family_. Us against the world like always, am I right?"

Dean blinked back at him.

 _Was_ he right?

The warmth of the bigger man's hand sank through the blankets and made him feel a million miles away from harm. He felt _cushioned_ and safe. Someone had his back again. Only it wasn't just one person now, it was two.

Dean's eyes flickered up to Seth's pinched expression and the hesitance he saw emblazoned across his face. It was impossible to overstate how crucial things felt for him and Seth _needed_ to hear an answer before it killed him stone dead.

"Dean?"

 _Come on man, say something, anything._

The wait was unbearable but then Dean grinned suddenly,

"Ah, what the hell? I surrender. _Alright_."

"Alright?"

"I fuckin' said it already didn't I?"

Seth stared back at him, smiling a little but needing to hear it in actual words,

"Say it man."

"Don't push it Rollins."

Roman chuckled broadly,

"Aw, come on Dean. You need to give the poor guy _something_. It's like somebody kicked a damn puppy over here."

With a groan of long-suffering, Dean threw his hands up and unleashed a mock tirade that was sweet as fuck to hear. Mostly because for a horrible moment they had thought they would never hear it again, but also because it was all the proof they needed that their teammate was feeling better again.

"Fuck, _fine_. We're a family. Are you happy now? I mean, a really, really fucked up family but a family all the same. _Get outta here with that_."

The last part of the sentence had been directed at Seth, who had moved towards Dean with both arms outstretched. Dean had responded with a swipe of his hands, dislodging his heart monitor for the second damn time. As the machine began beeping at the violent interruption, his fingers fumbled to track it back down and they were all busy trying to jam the thing on again when they suddenly became aware of an amused figure in the door.

Stephanie McMahon was leant against the threshold, arms folded across her chest and looking effortlessly cool.

"Gentlemen."

"Oh, look," Dean chirped, "Speakin' of fucked up families. Not brought the Emperor with you this time Steph Vader?"

A grey-twill suited figure strode in from behind her and fixed him with a look that made him gulp,

"Ambrose."

 _Damn._

His heart rate sped up a little and he flinched,

"Uh _, hey_ Vince."

Behind their erstwhile Mayor, both Roman and Seth grinned and Dean could see their shoulders starting to shake. _This_ was exactly the kind of shit they had been missing. That whole childish, naughty-kids, _in-joke_ shtick. Having it back again felt like Christmas and he bit back his own smile as Stephanie raised a brow,

"We decided to drop by and see how you were doing, but since you seem to be running your mouth, I assume the answer is _you're good_."

"All the better for havin' two workin' kidneys. For a minute there it was a pretty close run thing."

Their boss' disapproval died away again completely and her typically firm expression actually _wobbled_ in remorse.

"We heard."

Her voice was small and vaguely abashed sounding and as she swallowed her emotions, Vince took the floor. Crossing the space he dropped down onto the mattress and Dean complied by quickly moving his feet,

"How you doing slugger?"

"Y'know, I'm gettin' by – oh and a _baseball_ reference?"

Vince shrugged back at him, kind of half-grinning and with a glint in his eye,

"Well since you don't get golfing handicaps I decided to switch things up. You a baseball man son?"

"Nope. How are you on football terminology?"

Vince let out a sigh – his gaze rolling skywards – and behind him Roman choked back a laugh, turning it into a broken string of coughing that didn't fool anyone.

Seth thumped his back.

"Well," their Mayor offered, smiling pretty falsely but trying to look sincere, "Maybe next time."

The grins of the teammates nearly lit the room up and Stephanie watched them with conflicting thoughts. When she had decided to reunite their unit, these were the type of interactions she had sought, the type of interactions she had _missed_ in their break-up and the type of interactions she had needed in her life.

Historically she had never been a _close circle of friends_ person. With the exception of Hunter, she had been a lone wolf. She had never really needed external validation or – for that matter – moral support. It wasn't her thing. But at the same time she had loved the dynamic of The Shield boys. She had loved their closeness and what they had become. The three men in front of her had been family to one another but her ex-husband had broken that.

Now it was fixed again.

Not that she _wanted_ Dean Ambrose – or any of them – kidnapped and hospitalized, but at the same time, there they were. Laughing and slyly trying to catch each other's eyes in that conspiratorial way that the three of them had always done. Once upon a time it had driven her crazy but honestly, it felt _good_ to see it again. Ambrose had been through hell and then straight back, so she was beyond glad she could finally give something back to him.

It was just a shame she would never admit it.

She _couldn't._

She was the Big Bad Boss.

"You'll all be pleased to know," she started in snipped tones that didn't portray a single measure of what she felt, "That thanks to your _extraordinary_ efforts, we have all of _The League of Nations_ behind bars. Sheamus has agreed to testify on our side and as for Barrett, well, he's better off dead."

Her father nodded his agreement firmly,

"That he is and so are we. The city owes the three of you one hell of a debt of gratitude. It's very good for business to have The Shield back."

Dean blinked.

 _Back?_

Was that official now? Unfortunately his thoughts were interrupted by a shadow and the appearance of someone else in the door. It was a heavy set guy with a suit, thick shades and an earpiece – Vince McMahon's security detail,

"Sir?"

In a none-too-subtle gesture, he tapped at his wristwatch and Vince let out a sigh and stood up from the bed, pausing briefly to gather his composure and smooth a few wrinkles out of his twill,

"Ah, excuse me, I keep a tight schedule. Ambrose, son, I'm glad you're alright and Rollins and Reigns, it was a good job well done. I hope to see it repeated many times. Believe in The Shield, eh?"

Well that answered _that_ question.

Clearly the task force was officially _un_ official.

Just like old times all over again.

The rest of them remained quiet until the Mayor had left them but the atmosphere had lifted and Dean couldn't help but smile. Once he was certain that their chief was out of earshot, he turned towards Stephanie and broadened his grin,

"Has anyone ever told you that you look a _lot_ like him? I can say that to you because you're not actually my boss."

The sentence was as questioning as it was deeply teasing and they all knew what it meant.

 _I don't want to resign._

"About that," Stephanie offered, deciding to save face for him, "Have you had a chance to reconsider your stance? You know you're an invaluable member of the team here – ,"

"Of course I know."

"Well?" she pressed, ignoring his amusement and feeling her ire growing in turn,

"Well what?" he shrugged back,

"What's your decision?"

"About workin' with these yahoos? Not sure yet."

As he jolted a cheery thumb in their direction, Seth let out a long-suffering groan,

"Come on Dean – ,"

"But on balance, I think I _might_ be persuaded, but we're really gonna have to talk salaries at some point. I mean, I nearly got my _kidneys_ cut out here. We need fuckin' _danger_ money, am I right?"

"You're not getting a raise Ambrose."

"Company car?"

Pushing herself off the wall – arms still folded – Stephanie glanced over at each one of them in turn.

"I'll be in touch when we have another job for you. Try not to get yourself killed in the meantime,"

The final part of the sentence was directed at Dean, who simply stared back with a shit-eating grin. The fact that she had come close – they had _all_ come close – to losing it, struck her suddenly. Luckily Roman stepped in, seemingly sensing her swirling emotions and saving her from having to own up to them,

"Don't worry, we won't let him out of our sight."

It was all the confirmation she needed and with a final nod, she swept from the room. Dean's voice echoed out as she was turning the corner and she smiled despite herself.

 _Damn him._

"Good luck rebuildin' the Death Star."

His parting shot was greeted with dual chuckles and in the silence, Seth dropped himself down onto the bed. A few days ago – forget that, a few _hours_ – he would never have dared dream invading Dean's space. But a lot had happened in twenty-four hours and he suddenly felt comfortable doing it again. He was rewarded by Dean letting him do it without question and so he blew a teasing breath out and lightly shook his head,

"I can't believe you two never fucked."

"What the – ," Dean barked, in tones of astonishment, "Come on dude, she's like my _sister,_ or my cousin or maybe – y'know – a _totally_ bangin' aunt."

Seth grunted back at him,

"There goes _my_ appetite."

Roman grinned,

"Serves you right," his expression faltered as Dean yawned violently and again he dropped a hand down onto his leg. Weary blue eyes swung back round to meet him and he tempered his voice, "Hey, get some sleep Dean. Come on, you've earned it. Me and Seth will be right here."

The fact that their teammate complied without bitching highlighted to them both how exhausted he was and as Dean rolled onto his side and settled down again, Roman helped out by tucking him in. The sight of him relaxed and contented beneath the covers was like the application of a magical balsam and as Dean let out a sigh of satisfaction, both Roman and Seth unwound a little more.

"Hey," he mumbled gruffly, keeping his eyes shut as Roman moved a comforting hand to his brow,

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here, _bot_ h of you – y'know that?"

Seth grinned a little in reply,

"Yeah we do."

When Dean spoke again, his voice was hushed with lethargy and deep and slurred and a million things at once. What it _also_ was however, was happy and the knowledge made his brothers smile,

"I'm 'a sleep now."

"Alright."

Within seconds Dean Ambrose was out for the count again and Seth and Roman settled back to wait it out. They both meant what Roman had solemnly promised Stephanie.

Neither one of them was going to let him out of their sight.

* * *

 **So The Shield are back again. You know what this means? Sequel! But not yet, we've got one more chapter yet.**


	19. Don't Ever Change

**Eek, so here we have it, the final chapter. One day early because...what the hell?! I honestly love this story so much. I wasn't sure when I first started writing it and I must have re-written the first chapter a million times, but then I hit the groove and here we have it. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed. It means a lot, especially because this one was a review slow-burner, so I'm glad it caught people who love it so much!**

 **Info on the sequel at the bottom of the chapter, so don't miss that!**

 **AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, Re-reading it already? I don't think I've ever had that before. Thank you for all your support on this one. See you at the next one!**

 **Squeegee Beckinhime, Back together again as they should be (maybe in real life as well now? I think maybe I encouraged creative?) I feel like I should be listening to Thin Lizzy while writing this, 'The Boys Are Back In Town'!**

 **Ohana1337, Who doesn't love Smart Ass Dean? I think it must be physically impossible. Super glad it got you in The Shield feels (which is a scientifically proven part of the body...or should be!) See you at the sequel?!**

 **Mandy, Firstly, I order you to smile more always! But secondly thank you for your lovely reviews. I'm really happy that it connected with you. Makes me feel like I've done it right. I am working/toying with a couple of one-shots in this universe, so maybe a Steph/Dean special just for you!**

 **Ninjoy, I decided to let you have a break on the panic-front, plus the boys have been through enough. Couldn't not say hi to Vince and Steph again. Plus I needed to get in the whole Steph Vader line! Thank you for your reviews, I hope I see you for the sequel.**

 **Irishfan62, Hi, glad you're looking forward to the sequel. In answer to your questions, the victims weren't anyone specific (although they could've been I guess) and with regards to Dean's dearly departed, I personally don't feel comfortable writing about real life WAGS so she was no one specific. She's whoever you want her to be/see her as being. Hope that helps.**

 **Skovko, Ha! The joke's on you because I don't like coffee (but still, please not my cookies!) I did promise a sequel and I'm a woman of my word. I might** _ **also**_ **be writing the crocodile farm one-shot for you as requested. Maybe, but only if you're very good!**

 **Here we go then, one last time...**

* * *

 **Don't Ever Change**

Dean could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had been to visit _her_. Not that he had forgotten or didn't care enough – not at all, it would _never_ be that – more that the whole thing wasn't really his scene. He'd never been the graveside mourning type. Besides, how could a headstone ever be _her_? How could it ever explain who _she_ was?

Today however, well, today was different.

Today was the anniversary.

A whole fucking year.

A year to the day that her colleague had phoned him – already crying – saying she'd been rushed in. A car accident. He hadn't understood that. She hadn't even driven that day. As it turned out however, you didn't _have_ to be driving you could still get caught in a crash just the same.

It wasn't the guy's fault. Brian his name was. Those five letters indelibly seared on Dean's brain. Evidently he'd had a stroke at the wheel and veered up onto the sidewalk after he'd blacked out.

 _Just one of those things._

That's what everyone had said to him. Like the whole Murphy's Law thing would help ease his loss.

Yeah, it hadn't, not even _close_ to it. Besides, a _car accident_?

Dean shook his head,

 _Fuck_.

It was just so – just so god damn _menial_. She had been too bright, too _vivid_ to go out that way. Or at least, he'd _thought_ she was. Clearly the universe or karma or whatever had other ideas, or just flat out disagreed.

So there he was, one long ass year later, holding some wilted flowers and staring down at her grave.

"Uh, hey baby," he grumbled after what seemed like forever, feeling kind of _stupid_ about it all. Wherever she was, she wasn't _here_. It was too cold and sterile for everything she used to be. He'd wanted to throw her ashes off a mountain and let her sail away on the breeze but he'd been roundly overruled by her parents and siblings and since they weren't married, what more could he do? "Sorry I haven't been around much lately, I just – I'm not a big fan of this place, y'know?"

That was an understatement. Dean fucking _hated_ it. He hadn't even wanted to come today and yet how could he _not_? He had to mark it somehow.

Glancing up and scratching his stubble awkwardly, Dean's eyes fell on two figures beside the car, leant up casually against the gleaming chassis and talking in low voices.

Roman and Seth.

He hadn't spoken to them about the anniversary, but evidently both of them had already known and as he had opened his front door that morning, it had been to the two of them silhouetted in the hall.

No _way_ were they going to let him be alone for it.

In fact they'd hardly let up since the whole _kidney case_ deal. From the moment he had signed his hospital dispatch papers, the two of them had instantly, indelibly been there. Fussing around him, fetching him take-out, turning up unannounced to see how he was. He'd barely had a minute of peace since and although he'd never say it, their concern had been – well – _nice_.

It was also a good place to start their conversation and his eyes traced her name in the highly polished stone.

"The guys are here," he gestured vaguely, "Seth and Roman and – yeah – I know, right? Kinda weird considerin' how we left things but, I don't know, it sort of feels like old times again now. I mean, honestly? A _ton_ of stuff has happened since I was last here but – well – I guess you already know that. You _always_ knew what was goin' on. Probably know about the kidney as well, huh? Kinda thought I might be – like – _joinin'_ you there baby, although you'd have been pretty fuckin' furious at me."

That was a low-key way of putting it and if that _had_ been what had happened then she'd have killed him again.

"They got me out though," he offered quickly, like he could feel her judgement, "They really came through. So what d'ya think? Should I trust 'em again? I mean, it's sort of too late since I _kinda_ said yes and maybe I'm a fuckin' idiot or whatever but – it's just kinda _lonely_ down here, y'know?"

A cool gust of wind blew leaves across his boot tips and he snorted wryly,

"Yeah, I thought you'd say that. You always were the forgive and forget type. You were always better than me as well, at fuckin' _everythin'_ – by rights it should be me in the ground and you should be standin' here tellin' me I was stupid for whatever crazy ass thing got me killed. Don't seem right this way around. It's not ever _gonna_ either. I'm sorry babe. I fuckin' miss you – ,"

He stopped as the words got stuck in his throat, the sentence tearing out with a force that made him hurt. His chest felt tight and his body felt heavy and he could feel his eyes brimming with months of unshed tears.

"I'm tryin' though baby, you know that right? Fuck. 'Course you do – man I'm bad at this."

Letting out a humourless chuckle, Dean stooped to put the flowers on the grave, liking the way the colours stood out. It was a mixed bouquet threaded through with wild daisies, which Seth had informed him represented loyal love. How _exactly_ Seth had known that was a mystery, but it made Dean feel better that he did. He hadn't wanted to put down any old offering. He liked that the flowers would mean something to her.

Letting out a sigh, he swiped his hands across his eyelids, smudging the tears that threatened to fall. It left his upper cheeks cold and damp feeling but it was better than standing and bawling like a girl. The two eyes watching him from the car saw the movement and took it as a silent cue to move in. Before he even realized they were standing on either side of him and with one of Roman's big solid hands on his arm,

"Hey, you alright?"

It was a pretty pointless question. How on earth could he ever be _alright_? But that wasn't the way that Roman had intended it and knowing it, Dean offered back a shaky nod.

"I guess," he shrugged, before turning to the grave again and waving a hand as he addressed her, "Told you, right? I said Seth and Roman were here. Say _hi_."

He'd intended it to come out as a face-saving gesture, a sort of half-joke, only it fell pretty flat. He was miserable, heart-broken and failing at spending time with her. He was officially the worst bereaved fiancé there ever was.

Sensing it however – and the swirling clouds of torment – Seth stepped in closer and laid a hand across the stone,

"Hey you," he smiled, eyes scanning the letters fondly and it was like the younger man could actually see her there, "Been a while, huh? I know. That was my fault. I think we all know I've been a horrible friend. Not just to Dean but – uh – to you as well and I'm sorry about that. I hope you know I am."

Dean blinked slowly and sniffed just a little, but he fought his way through it to offer up a tiny nod,

"She knows."

Seth grinned,

"I'm glad about that. She's the last person I needed to make my peace with. The person I was scared of making peace with as well. She could be real fiery when she wanted."

Dean chuckled lightly,

"Fuck yeah she could. Thanks by the way," he gestured towards the headstone, trying to put into words what it meant and failing miserably, "Uh – you know – thanks for _that_."

Seth stepped away from the graveside gently and nodded back,

"Sure man. Roman? Your turn."

Without even a blink, the big man moved in closer and Dean bit his bottom lip down hard. Honestly? It meant the fucking _world_ to him. Words couldn't even describe how it felt. After a whole year of dealing with the loss of her solo and talking to himself and generally feeling like a mess, suddenly his grieving was being supported and not only that, but unquestioningly as well.

 _Fuck_ he was ridiculously glad they were with him. Maybe he would even owe Steph a _thanks_ for that? Would Stephanie McMahon even accept a heartfelt _thank you_ or was gratitude an emotion that her people had weeded out?

He snapped back to attention as Roman cleared his throat,

"Baby girl? It's the Big Dog. How you doing up there? Bet you're lighting the whole place up, huh? I'm sorry I wasn't there for you – for _either_ of you a year ago. But I'm back now, alright? And I want you to know that I'm gonna take care of him. _Both_ of us are. You don't need to worry about him anymore, you hear me? Let us do that. We've got his back."

The sentiments were accompanied by him reaching a hand out and using it to massage the back of Dean's neck, rubbing in his fingers as their teammate scrubbed his eyeballs and furiously tried to keep his feelings in check.

They waited a moment for everything to settle and then Seth drew a breath in,

"You want to head back?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded and Seth smiled mildly and jerked his head towards the car,

"Come on man, I'll race you there."

The three of them set off side by side together, ambling companionably over the grass. They didn't talk but then again they didn't need to and that in itself was a pretty nice thing, the fact that they were now _okay_ enough to not need to fill the silences in.

They were almost back at the car before Dean spoke again and the fact that it was accompanied by a flicker of a smile – lopsided though it was – made Roman heave a sigh.

"Hey," Dean chirped, glancing at Seth curiously, "How'd you know which flowers mean what?"

"Didn't you hear man?" the younger man responded, grinning back at his teammate in kind, "I took a class when I was in prison. I have an MA in floristry now."

"Funny," Dean rolled his eyes, "Anyone ever told you that you're an asshole?"

"You have. A _lot_ of times."

"That's a good point."

During Dean's two day stint in the hospital, the three of them had spoken all about Seth's time in jail. The penitentiary he had been placed in had been mainly white collar crime, so not the worst situation he could have been in. But prison was still prison and Seth was an ex-officer so suffice to say that he'd found it pretty tough.

Dean had physically _flinched_ at some of it, his big brother instincts kicking in hard. He hadn't felt protective of Seth in over _three years_ and yet suddenly there it was again, fierce and strong.

Seth had _not_ been arranging flowers. He'd been busy trying to preserve his ribs.

A ping on his cell phone interrupted Dean's musings and as they reached Roman's car, he fumbled it loose. A name flashed up on the screen and just the _lettering_ looked inherently angry.

Dean grinned,

"Who's that from?" Roman asked frowning, as he crossed around to the driver's side door,

"Who do you think? It's our smokin' hot aunt."

The bigger man grimaced,

"Please don't call her that."

Seth however wasn't so repulsed by it, but only because he was concerned by other things.

"Steph? What does she want?"

"She's got a job for us."

"For _us_?"

"Well," Dean shrugged, "She _says_ The Shield, so it sounds like she means us, don't ya' think?"

"What I _meant_ ," Seth sighed heavily, "Is do we want to take it on? You know if we do they'll just keep on throwing stuff. If any of us want out, it'll have to be now."

"Well," Roman shrugged, "I'm up for a challenge, but only if the two of you are."

Seth nodded,

"I'm in man."

Roman snorted at his enthusiasm,

"You don't say? Well that makes two of us, what about you babe?"

Taking in a long breath, Dean looked pensive, drawing out the agony like only he could. In reality the answer was never really in doubt, but he could certainly make it _look_ like it was.

"Well," he sighed, rocking his head side to side as if he was weighing both the pros and the cons, "I figure it's the only thing I'm any good at. Plus, it would pretty much fall apart without me, so – ,"

Roman rose a taunting brow,

"Oh really?"

"Please, we all know it. Let's not pretend."

As the pair of them teased one another back and forth, Seth rolled his eyes,

"What did Steph say? What's the case?"

Dean swiped his finger across to scan the text briefly. As he was doing it he snorted back smugly and glanced towards his brothers with a grin,

"Well whatever it is the three of us can handle it. We're the fuckin' _Shield_ y'know?"

Roman smiled back and nodded his head emphatically as a buoyant mood settled in,

"Hell yeah I do."

It took all of about three seconds to cave in again, as Dean's face fell on instinct,

"Oh shit."

Seth frowned at him,

"What?"

"Lesnar's back in town."

Seth concurred immediately, groaning back in similar tones of apprehension,

"Oh shit."

Despite the responses however, they were smiling. All of them. Kind of _inanely_ as well. The thrill of the chase was calling them towards it and each man could hear it like they were physically tuned in. They shared a look and it silently spoke volumes.

 _Let's go do this_.

They were in business again.

Catching Seth with a slap across the back, Dean swung the door open and slid himself in. The others followed, hot on his heels and Roman fired their chariot into life. Glancing into the rear view, he drank in their collective faces and grinned at them broadly,

"Gonna be a bumpy ride."

Seth snorted back at him,

"Just like old times then?"

Dean nodded contentedly,

"Yep. Just like old times."

* * *

 **Annnnnd scene. That's it folks, that's a wrap! Once again thank you to everyone who's reviewed this and made me feel like it's an okay little tale!**

 **The sequel is all written (more Dean hurt, I'll be honest, at this point I can't stop myself) so I'll post the first chapter later this week and then go with an every three days approach. Hope to see some of you (well, all of you) there and thank you again.**

 **Onwards, to the sequel…(The Shield Undivided)**


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